Season of Mists
by Dark Empyrean
Summary: As Arus rebuilds and gathers its new allies to fight Planet Doom, Keith and Allura must journey into the wilds of Arus to find help and healing, and maybe even each other...sequel to My Life in Your Service. Orig. cartoon and Devils Due comic based. Edgy.
1. Chapter 1: Castles in the Sand

**Season of Mists**

Intro and notes: This is the first chapter of the continuing adventures of my favorite Voltron characters, in a universe all their own… it picks up almost immediately after the events in Black Lion, after the last big battle, in chapter 25 of My Life in Your Service, but **before** the very last chapter, which, as I explained then, was really an epilogue. At this point, my intention is to write a shorter story than MLiYS, focusing on events around the castle and on Keith and Allura's quest to find the Water Tribes of Arus. It's intended to explore the growing feelings they have for one another, in order to make way for a fuller, mature expression of that love. So expect a lot of love. Does that need a warning? **Warning: Much love following…** just kidding. But it _is_ Voltron, so there will have to be some big guy action too, among other things…

Playlist: Twilight soundtrack (again!), Moby, 18, and Zero 7.

All disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter One:

Castles in the Sand

A single, white-clad figure lay on the sand, reclining back on her elbows, one leg bent, one pointed straight out in front of her, her toes dangling into the edge of the ocean's foam. She turned her tanned face upwards, towards the sun. Her eyes were closed and she had pulled her hair free of the usual bun she wore underneath her helmet so that her long blond hair brushed the surface of the white sand beach underneath her. The heavy, humid salt sea air had conspired to turn her normally wavy, well-behaved tresses into a tangled mass that whipped around her shoulders in time with the ocean breeze. The white of her uniform was whiter, even, than the sand she reclined upon; the sun, only a few hours from setting, sparkled across her tightly clad body, making it seem almost as if she glowed. Her white boots lay discarded a few feet behind her. Her legs were bare up to her knees, the bottom part of her uniform rolled up just below them, and her bare feet were covered with wet sand. She looked serene and peaceful, from a distance, the perfect image of a beautiful girl relaxing on the beach, not a care in the world. The only thing missing was a swimsuit. Allura didn't wear a swimsuit. She wore the blinding white uniform of the Voltron Force, and, just beside her boots, she had also dropped her belt that had two blasters and a comm. unit attached.

Keith sighed. She was so beautiful. His heart twisted and throbbed almost in exact rhythm with the pounding waves, watching her, her hair waving gently in the ocean breeze. She had a beauty that went far deeper than just her outward features, which were glorious enough; she had a fiercely protective and loving spirit that had refused to give up, after spending almost her entire life watching as almost everyone around her was ruthlessly exterminated by the most heartless demon in the universe, and the bare handful that was left retreated to the caves underneath the Castle of Lions to live, as she said, like rats, for a decade while her planet crumbled to ash above her. Things that would have driven others mad had only made her stronger. She had the deepest capacity for love of anyone he had ever met. And, in spite of everything, or maybe because of it, he didn't know, he felt within her a purity of soul, an almost holy kind of innocence, that shined as blindingly white as her uniform.

He wanted to pretend that she was just any other girl relaxing on the beach, not a care in the world, but the dark shapes of her twin blasters, lying within easy reach of the reclining princess, reminded him that it simply wasn't so. It couldn't be so. Not yet. One day, it would be. He had promised her. A safe, green Arus where she didn't have to worry about being kidnapped or bombed or assaulted by magic, Robeasts, or the forces of Planet Doom. A safe, green Arus where she didn't show up at places on her planet that had once been settlements and estates, before Zarkon's attacks had begun over ten years before, to find only the abandoned ruins of a destroyed population. He kept his hands near his own blaster. He would keep watch over her as she sat by the sea. He could give her so little, but he would give her this one stolen moment by the sea, shining in the sun, alone, but safe under his watch and in his care.

He crouched against one of the outlying pillars of the bombed out estate that lay behind them. If he turned his head to the left, he could see the grisly reminders of Zarkon's war for universal dominion. The large courtyard had once been beautiful. It was paved in red brick and inlaid with tile mosaics that had been largely destroyed. He had kicked away some of the debris covering one of the mosaics, and had been able to make out about half of it. Stones and decorative tiles of various hues of blue depicted a kneeling woman, clad only in her long hair, holding up a blue bowl, as if in sacrifice, to a being with an outstretched arm. Whoever the being might have been had been erased by some kind of explosion; the rest of the mosaic, and the surrounding ground, was blackened and burned.

There had been a huge marble fountain in the middle of the courtyard, as well; Allura had stared at the cracked and ruined statue in the center mournfully when they had discovered it soon after landing in their Lions. "It held fish, all kinds of small, pretty ones. It was to Count De La Mar what my mother's garden was to the Castle of Lions." She smiled bitterly at the image of the past. "They were so quick, and so colorful, those fish. I used to sit on the edge of this fountain and stare at them for hours, and when I thought no one was looking, I would try and grab them with my hands." Her eyes were haunted. There were no fish there now.

"Did you? Catch one, I mean?" Keith asked, trying to draw her back to him, out of the past, and into the present, where he stood there, waiting for her, guarding her, desperate to see her smile again on this mission to find the Water Tribes that had so far been disastrous.

The bitter smile twisted a little but did not disappear. "No," she said solemnly. "I fell in, and had to be fished out myself, by one of the gardeners. I was six, and my father was _furious_. But Count De La Mar just laughed and laughed. He was very fat. Life here was slow and lazy, then." Her eyes narrowed as she whirled on him. He realized he had succeeded in drawing her back to him, and the look in her eyes made him wish, fleetingly, that perhaps he hadn't. "Where were you, when you were six?" Her chin jutted out defiantly. "I just told you one of my most embarrassing moments. Now you have to tell me one of yours. What kind of troublemaker were you when you were six?"

"I never have been much of a troublemaker," he hedged. It was true. Most of his life had been unbelievably mundane, punctuated by moments of fierce insanity and unreality, like giant robots and magic and fierce metal lions and intergalactic warfare… he cleared his throat, determined to give the waiting princess _something_. "Well, let's see… when I was six… I was in kindergarten, and there was this little girl who liked me. Her name was Marianne, I think, and she followed me _everywhere_. It got to be so annoying. One day, I was minding my own business, playing in the sandbox, and she started bothering me again, and when I asked her to leave me alone, and she wouldn't, I…" he blushed, amazed, suddenly, that he was still embarrassed and ashamed at something that had happened sixteen years ago. Allura leaned forward expectantly, her lips slightly parted, and he almost abandoned his story, distracted. "I started a fight with her," he admitted, dropping his voice to a whisper and his gaze to the ground.

Allura's mouth gaped completely open. "Keith Kogane! You started a fight _with a girl_?"

"Mmm hmm," he mumbled.

"I can't believe you! What did they do to you?" she asked, caught between amusement and horror.

He looked up at her sheepishly. He looked so human, so vulnerable, in that moment, his shoulder-length shaggy black hair whipped wild by the ocean winds. Gone was the fearless leader of the Voltron Force; gone was her ever-vigilant protector, and for just a brief, glorious moment, Keith looked exactly like an embarrassed six-year-old boy. "Not much," he admitted, his blush deepening. "She beat the ever living daylights out of me. My father decided the humiliation alone was probably enough."

Allura gaped at him even more, the destruction around them momentarily forgotten. "You _got beat up by a little girl?_" Her mouth twitched as she tried unsuccessfully to hold back her laughter. He laughed with her, glad to have brought her out of her bad memories, even if it was at the cost of a little of his pride. _So what_, he thought. _I'd give her so much more than that, if I could, if she'd let me…_

Count De La Mar's sprawling plantation had been the third set of coordinates they had tried on their quest to find the Water Tribes. The previous two, the first of which had once been the bustling port city of Damaris, and the second, a plantation owned by a nobleman, similar to De La Mar, had both been deserted and destroyed. It had been beyond depressing, for both of them.

The large main building of De La Mar Plantation, or what was left of it, reminded Keith of a Spanish Hacienda back on Earth. The building surrounded a courtyard on three sides, and the courtyard blended into stone steps that led down to the sand and the sea. The main building had once been surrounded by fields and outbuildings, which were nothing but blasted ruins and ash now. The main building itself was structurally unsound, with large parts of the red-tiled roof entirely gone, and other parts of the roof looking suspiciously precarious. This was their third stop, he thought, frustration rising as he looked at the princess. The sun would set in a few hours, and they had come nowhere close to finding any marker of the Water Tribe's continued existence on Planet Arus. He forced his frustration down. They had other coordinates to check, other places to visit, and they would do so. They had too. Both he and the princess remained blocked from any kind of mind magic, and Kiari, Clan Leader of the Fire Tribe, had been firm that it would take a healer and teacher of Allura's own element, water, to fix the situation. _We'll just have to keep trying_, he thought, determined. Looking back at the reclining princess, her toes being kissed by the waves, gave him an idea. Perhaps the _was_ something he could do to lift their spirits…

He flipped on his comm. unit to contact Castle Control. "McClain here," his second-in-command, now first in command of the Castle of Lions in his absence, answered quickly. He smiled, glad to hear his best friend's voice. It felt like an anchor in the midst of insanity.

"Lance," Keith said, quietly, not wishing to disturb the princess. "We've landed at De La Mar Plantation. I'm afraid the trend continues, my friend."

A brief silence ensued. Keith heard Lance sigh. "I was afraid of that. It's looking like the Water Tribes were hit pretty hard."

"Affirmative. This place looks like it got hit less hard than the previous two, but then, it's less strategically important than the other two were. We started with what were the biggest and most important settlements, and are working our way down. It seemed logical."

"How many more coordinates do you have to check, Keith?" Lance asked, his frustration breaking through.

"Just two more," he answered grimly. "Another plantation, and then an isolated estate on an island in the Northern Seas. It's a long shot, but we can't afford to leave any possibility out."

"No," Lance agreed. "Kiari is insistent that there _is_ someone out there, someone who can help." His friend lowered his voice. "I just wish she could be equally insistent about _where_ this help might be…"

Keith smirked. The fiery tempered Clan Leader must be close, he decided. _She hasn't been far from him ever since he decided he wasn't coming_…. But Keith cut that thought off quickly. He wasn't ready to think too closely about the events that had led Allura to him in Black Lion after the last battle… he wasn't ready to examine, too closely, the ways their mysterious bond might have changed. "Listen, Lance, I want to let you know that we're going to have to settle in soon. Sunset is only a couple of hours off, and although we could come back to the castle, that's going to put us back several hours starting out tomorrow."

Lance snorted. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll cover for you with Koran and Nanny. But are you sure you'll be safe out there?"

"Are we safe anywhere, Lance, really?" Keith answered morosely. Lance was silent. "The thing is, there's something to this water element thing. If you could just see her…" he trailed off, watching Allura. She had rolled over on one side, facing the sea, actually motionless as the surf flowed all around her and the tide rose. She was going to be soaking wet, and she either hadn't noticed, or didn't care. "She's been heartsick. There's so much progress around the castle, it's easy to forget… and she knew these last two plantations, had been here as a child… she's been shell shocked again, retreating into herself, and the ocean, being near it…" he took a deep breath, frustrated, wishing Lance could read his thoughts again. "It calms her. Just being near it is… healing, in its way. I don't know. I wish I could explain."

"You don't have too," Lance said, with a sigh. He could hear it in Keith's voice. "If it's good for Allura, then it's a good thing. Necessary, maybe even." He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the hint of despair and confusion he wore like a shroud these days, ever since leaving Allura at the tunnel to Black Lion, out of his voice. "Just take care of her. I know you will," he choked out.

Keith didn't even need to respond. They both knew he would. Either of them would. With their very lives. "Of course," he said softly, carrying his own brand of hurt and confusion as well. "Take care of yourself, buddy."

"Sure," Lance said, with an unsuccessful attempt at nonchalance. "Listen, _someone_ has to drag Hunk and Pidge up at the crack of dawn to practice with those Lions. We're not all on beach vacations, you know," he said with mock severity.

Keith looked at the ruins around him, and at Black and Blue Lions, just visible beyond the top of the collapsing roof. "Yeah. Beach vacation. Good one."

"Just bring me a nice souvenir," Lance said.

Keith chuckled. "If you're good. Kogane out."

He looked at the princess, now completely soaked, one last time before heading quickly to Black Lion to grab a few supplies.

VVVVV

Princess Allura closed her eyes as the world around her seemed to breathe in one great, essential rhythm. Without realizing it, she had matched her own breath to the beating of the waves and the whispering of the ocean breeze. The thick, foamy surf tickled her toes and the soft white sand underneath her ground not unpleasantly against her exposed skin. She knew she would have sand _everywhere_. It was already in her hair and had wiggled its way into the strangest places underneath her uniform. _How can sand get into my uniform when I haven't even taken it off?_ she wondered. But she didn't wonder long. It was strangely difficult to hold a thought, here at the edge of the sea, with the ruins of Count De La Mar's once opulent plantation behind her. De La Mar Plantation had grown the most marvelous fruits and vegetables, including firefruit, and had some of the most skilled glassmakers on her planet. All the plantations on her planet had been run as collectives, on a profit sharing system, and as such, resembled the old plantations of Earth in name only. She had explained patiently to a horrified Keith, who had associated the word with slavery, that Arusian plantations were more like artist and farmer's collectives. She remembered a set of iridescent rainbow hued glasses that her mother had used for special state dinners. They had come from here, from the artisans who lived here… She looked at the frothy foam of the surf. _No_, her mind insisted. _Look here, at the sea. Breathe with it, princess. Forget, for now…you are safe with someone who loves you_… and she smiled at the sea, the destruction behind her forgotten for the briefest of moments, and she rolled on her side, directly into the water, gasping at its warmth, not caring that she had just soaked herself to the skin.

Sometime later, perhaps a minute, perhaps an hour, a shadow blocked the gentle late afternoon sun, and she looked up to see Keith standing above her. She smiled up at him, wet, filthy, and covered with clumps of sand and foam and bits of seashell and the goddess knew what else, and she had never felt less like a proper princess than she did at that moment. It felt _wonderful_. She opened her mouth to ask him if she looked as unprincesslike as she felt, and the treacherous tide took that exact moment to swell over her forcefully, filling her mouth and throat and lungs with a huge dose of saltwater. As she lay there on her side, gagging and red-faced, Keith was with her in an instant, pulling her to her knees, supporting her around her waist with one hand while pounding on her back with the other. As she continued to choke and gag, he muttered darkly to himself, and slipped both hands around her abdomen, applying a sharp upward pressure with his interlocked hands just above her navel. Saltwater suddenly poured out of her nose and mouth, and she gagged. Keith continued holding her that way, arms around her waist now, pressing her back loosely to his broad chest, until she got a good, deep breath into her lungs, and rasped out, "Well, I guess that answered that question."

"What question was that?"

"Whether I looked as unprincesslike as I feel."

He laughed quietly, but she could hear fear in his voice. "I don't know about unprincesslike, but you are definitely _trouble_. I leave you alone for _maybe _two minutes, and you try to drown yourself in the surf…"

She whirled around to face him, sitting down heavily in the sand. "Yes," she agreed solemnly. "I have it on good authority I am the most troublesome woman in the whole damn galaxy."

Her words reminded them both of Lance, and the fact that he wasn't here. No one was, in fact, except the two of them. And miles of ruined, bombed-out plantation.

"Thank you," she whispered, sitting just beyond the circle of his arms. "Thank you for giving me a moment by the sea. I almost… _almost_…forgot everything else."

"No problem, princess."

"Allura," she corrected automatically. "Unless you want me to go back to calling you Commander Kogane all the time…" she grinned, impishly, still beautiful despite her soaking wet uniform and sand-encrusted hair. He could almost forget she had just almost choked and managed to soak him, as well…

"Ok, Allura. I just like calling you princess, sometimes. It's cute." He didn't catch her quick glare, just pulled her to her feet with him in one smooth motion. He pointed at the sun, slowly sinking into the sea. "We only have a little bit of daylight left. I called the castle and let them know we were going to stay here tonight and travel on to the next settlement tomorrow."

Her face lit up like a child's. "Truly? Nanny and Koran? It's ok?"

"It will be," he hedged.

"Did you bring a tent?"

"Well, yes, but… it's so temperate out, and it's supposed to be good weather…" He watched her closely, wondering if his guess about her was about to be proved right. "Princ…I mean, Allura, have you ever slept out under the stars?"

Her eyes got huge. "Can you _do_ that?" she asked, her excitement palpable.

"I've done it more times than I count. On Earth, of course. I've run several scans, and done a little exploring, and I think we'll be perfectly safe right here on the beach. The castle is keeping a close watch on this region, as well." Her excitement was contagious. "We'll gather some wood, and have a fire, and listen to the waves. And, I have surprise for you, for later." At her look of fierce excitement and curiosity, he laughed. "It's nothing, really. _Please_ don't get too excited. It's not like a present, or anything." She merely nodded at him, eyes shining nonetheless, as he set down the enormous pack he had dragged out of Black Lion. He quickly divided up duties as the sun sank ever closer to the watery horizon. He and Allura both scouted for firewood. He didn't want to leave her to wander out into the abandoned fields that were quickly being reclaimed by the jungle, so they gathered armloads of wood together in companionable silence. He set to digging a deep pit while she gathered stones to line it, and then he watched her carefully while she skirted the edge of the jungle looking for long, smooth sticks. He refused to tell her why when she asked. Finally, after things were as ready as he could get them, he looked at her uniform with a critical eye.

"It's going to get a little cold, you know," he said doubtfully.

"You're just as wet and horrible looking as I am," she countered.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Immaterial," she sniffed.

With a sigh, he rummaged in the huge pack and came up with two sets of gray Academy sweat suits, the kind that had hoods. "Here," he said, handing her one. "We can let our uniforms dry by the fire."

She looked down, shy, suddenly. "We can change over in the main building… it's probably safer where the roof is gone…" She looked at him, nearly tongue-tied with shyness. "Will you…stand guard…while I change?" she asked, slipping back into that maddening innocence that broke through her many guises sometimes, making him want to fight armies to protect her, when he knew she could protect herself in most cases. He had trained her to be able to do so himself.

"Of course," he said softly, matching her shy gaze with a straightforward one of his own. "You are completely safe with me, Allura. If you don't know that already."

"Of course, Keith," she nearly whispered, the nearly setting sun hopefully masking her fierce blush. _I know I'm safe with you,_ she thought, with a tinge of frustration. _But what if I don't want to be?_ She remembered back to their time in Black Lion, after the last big battle, and she flushed scarlet. Her gentle Keith had come back to her that day, and his black wall of rage had abated, but she remembered his fierceness, his primal bite at her neck, and the answering fierceness she felt within herself, a passion she instinctively knew only he could bring out in her… _There will be time_, she assured herself, as she followed him back to the ruined structure of what had been a great, thriving plantation.

He led her to a room where three of the sides still stood. It had once been a changing room, because it was ringed with wooden partitions and empty, sunken baths. He waited patiently while she ducked around one of the partitions. The sky, darkening rapidly as the sun sank, already showed a star or two. She placed the sweat suit carefully on the ground. Keith realized he could see her from the mid-thigh down as well as the top of her blonde head. He heard her uniform unzip with a nervous start, images of her in her nightgown the night Lotor had tried to cut it off her suddenly forcing themselves to the forefront of his mind. When the wet uniform dropped to the ground with a plop, he saw her legs, pale in the moonlight, step out of the white wet fabric. She gave it a little kick and bent over to retrieve the sweat suit. He watched, entranced, as her long blonde hair fell in heavy strands over her bare outstretched arms and legs… he was only inches from her, separated by a wooden partition, as she stood, skin-clad, underneath the gathering starlight…

_Get a grip_! He yelled at himself. _I'm supposed to be watching over her, not gawking at her…_ He remembered her coming to him in Black Lion and flushed. He had been so out of control… he would not lose control with her, not again. He would show her she could trust him, remembering the bite on her neck with shame. He never wanted to hurt her again. He would wait for her to be ready for him…

"Here I am," she said, twirling lightly, as if showing off a beautiful new gown. The sweat suit was his, and it dwarfed her enormously. He laughed his approval.

"Just give me a second," he told her. "Don't wander off." He stepped back behind the same partition she had used and stripped himself of his soaked, sand-encrusted uniform quickly. He had just slipped his sweat pants on when he heard a scuffling noise from around the partition, and Allura shrieked. He barely had time to turn around, blaster in hand, when she came barreling around the partition, throwing herself against his bare chest. He gripped her tightly with the hand that was still holding his hooded sweatshirt, moving her protectively to his side, his blaster aimed steadily ahead. "What is it?" he whispered, feeling her shake against his side.

She buried her head against his side. "I'm sorry," she said tremulously. "It's nothing, really. It's just… there was a snake…" she wrapped her arms around his waist as he relaxed slightly. "I'm so sorry, I know it's silly, mice don't scare me, but snakes…"

He was still gripping the blaster, still clutching her tightly. He had relaxed slightly, but not entirely. Snakes in the tropics on Earth were the deadliest kind… "Where?" he whispered, moving with her as she pointed. He moved her behind him, pressing his shirt into her hands. He was barefoot, they both were, and whatever had scared her had moved into a pile of debris on the far side of the room. Keeping his blaster aimed straight at the pile, he felt around the floor for a stone or piece of wood… at that exact moment, a thick, undulating form launched itself from the pile of debris, slithering furiously towards his exposed feet. His blaster cut it neatly in two, but it continued to twist, a gruesome reaction of its central nervous system. Allura shrieked softly into his sweatshirt, pressing herself tightly against his back.

"Do you recognize it?" he asked her, squinting in the darkness.

"I think it's a sand serpent. I can't tell for sure, but that's what it looks like. A big, nasty one." The thing had to be four or five feet long. "If I'm right, we're very lucky. They're very aggressive. And very deadly."

She was still trembling. He turned and gathered her into his arms. "Ssshhh," he whispered. "It's a good reminder. Even in the most beautiful places we need to stay on our toes. That was a good catch, Allura." She nodded into his bare chest, unconvinced. "Come on," he said into her hair. "Let's go light that fire. Fire tends to keep them away." She nodded, grateful, for the millionth time, for this man who seemed ready to protect her from even the most ridiculous things, and allowed herself to be led towards the camp he had prepared for them.

VVVVV

"And that one?" Keith asked, pointing a cluster of stars with his stick.

"The Lover's Knot," she said dreamily. She had wished on it, a time or two, as did every girl on Arus…

"And that?" he asked, pointing to another one.

"Lyssa's Bow," she said, gesturing with her own stick, which still had half a hot dog stuck on its end. "The Warrior Maiden." She rolled over to look at him, pulling the last of the hot dog off her stick and shoving it in her mouth. "This was a great surprise," she said, mouth full. _Very unprincesslike_, she thought smugly.

"I'm not done yet," he answered, a bit smug himself. He stood in one fluid motion and rummaged in the pack, pulling out a bag of marshmallows and a few other ingredients. She watched, amazed, as he stalked towards her. He was so… graceful. Feline, even. "Dessert," he said, plopping down right beside her.

"Huh?" she said, distracted. He had not bothered with the sweatshirt, after killing the snake. His muscles rippled in the firelight. He rolled his eyes.

"Dessert. You could at least pretend to be excited. I had this imported here from Earth at great peril, you know. Not to mention the trouble I had keeping this from Hunk and Lance…" As he spoke he speared several marshmallows, talking the whole while, and before she knew it, Allura was eating the gooiest, messiest, most delicious concoction ever. "Smores," he told her, laughing as she covered her face with marshmallow and chocolate.

"Mmmm," she replied, eating greedily.

He sighed. "Just a second," he told her, running lightly down to the water's edge to dampen a towel. "Here," he told her, wiping at her face. "I was afraid you'd drown yourself again…."

She squealed in indignation, mouth still full, and tossed the cloth back at him. He laughed, his heart light, watching the Princess of Arus in the firelight under the stars, her face relaxed and happy, and something else… As the night breezes of the ocean rolled over them, he knew he had made the right decision. She looked truly peaceful for the first time in two days, since they had begun this heartbreaking journey.

She watched him, too, out of the corner of her eye, as she faced the darkened ocean, her hair whipping wildly behind her. He held himself carefully, not quite relaxed, as if ready to spring at a moment's notice. His weapons belt was right beside him, and she wondered if he realized he was running his fingers across the hilt of the Sword of Altaire. He did it often, actually, and Allura suspected it had become a subconscious habit. His own unruly black hair, grown way past Galaxy Garrison regulation length, whipped about in the ocean wind. He seemed content to watch over her, making her laugh, learning the names of the Arusian constellations, from his side of the fire. She frowned. She wished he was closer. Did she dare? After Black Lion, he had been so careful with her, and she had been unsettled, still, by his fierce passion and Lance's sudden retreat… Lance…she closed her eyes with a brief stab of pain. Her fire-hearted friend still held a place in her heart. Maybe that's why Keith was maintaining this distance. Maybe it had something to do with their absent friend…

"Thank you," she whispered. "For bringing me here. For doing all this." She smiled. "For saving my life twice in one night already, from snakes and drowning…"

"Just don't make it a third time, ok?" he whispered back. She nodded.

"Keith?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you so far away?" she whispered softly, so softly he almost thought he was imagining her words.

He felt the bond between them suddenly, pulling on his heart until he thought it might explode. "Allura…" he breathed, feeling his body, his treacherous body, leaning towards her of its own accord.

She was on her knees, staring at him across the fire. "I'm cold," she barely whispered as she crawled around the fire and climbed into his lap, twining her arms around his neck, burrowing her head underneath his chin. "I can hear your heart," she said. "It's beating in time to the ocean," she whispered, as if she had discovered a secret.

He said nothing. He had no words. He just held her closer, burying his nose in her hair. It still smelled like flowers, but with salt, from the ocean. When she pulled him gently down to meet her lips, holding himself perfectly still as she kissed him lightly, almost shyly, he could taste the salt from the sea. As her kisses grew bolder, he groaned, low in his throat, and broke contact between them.

"What?" she asked, hurt. "Do you not want to kiss me?"

It took him a minute to respond. "Of course not. I mean, of course. Yes. I do want to kiss you." He frowned slightly, dazed. "You have no idea how much."

"Then _why_?"

He took another few more seconds to take deep breaths. "I don't think I have the control right now," he said, watching her carefully.

"Oh." She thought about it. "Why is that bad?"

He groaned and collapsed on his back against the sleeping bag that separated him and the sand. _How can I explain this? I don't even understand it myself, not really…but you have to try, Keith…_

He took a deep breath and pulled her down next to him, wrapping both arms around her tightly. "I love you," he told her.

"Mmm hmm. Me too," she answered, snugly against his side. He was amazed at how perfectly she fit there.

"I'm bad with words, Allura. But I'm going to try to explain." He curled into her, gathering his thoughts. "You know I was engaged before I met you, right?"

"Yes," she whispered, aware of how painful a subject this was for him.

His voice dropped to a whisper even lower than hers, his lips right against her ear. "Beverly was the only woman I had ever… been with," he admitted. "It's something I take very seriously. Most guys my age from Earth, well… let's just say I'm _not_ the norm." She lay still, her arms going up around him, as if it was her turn to comfort him. "And I know it's different here on Arus. If Beverly and I had been from Arus, we would never… we would have waited…" his voice trailed off, and she could tell she was losing him in a haze of painful might-have-beens.

"Keith," she said, running her fingers lightly across his chest. "This is hard for me to say, but I'm going to try." He stiffened slightly, listening. "I love you. I can't ever imagine that changing. I love Lance too, I know we both do, but that's… different. That's not what I want to talk about." She gripped him tightly, fiercely, terrified she was about to make a terrible mistake, dredging up the painful past. "What you had with Beverly was love, and under Earth custom, I understand that a betrothal is even more binding than the bonds many partnered couples have. But what happened in the caverns… at the city of the Fire Tribes…" she felt him go rigid, and almost stopped herself. But she plunged ahead, heartache plain in her voice. "I want to be careful with you, too. I think you have deeper wounds than you realize." She raised herself on one elbow to look at him, stroking his rigid jaw with her free hand, tracing his frozen lips, her heart shining in her eyes. "Do you know what you would have called it if Lotor had done to me what she did to you?"

He looked at her then, pain in his eyes, but amazement too, that she could ferret out wounds so deeply buried even he didn't know they were there. She was still moving her finger across his lips, down his face. "You would have said he forced me, and you would have killed him for it," she whispered, the heartache in her eyes blazing into a deep, boiling rage. "I want to help heal you, love. I think you are wounded, still. I feel it here," and she laid her hand across his heart. "I will wait for you, as I hear you say you will wait for me. But know this, as well: I know where this is leading, and never doubt that it is you I want, and you I wait for, and that nothing can change this. It was written in the stars, before we were born."

He shivered in her arms, amazed and afraid at the same time. She was right. He could feel the wounds, still, buried deeply, so deeply. "I love you, Allura," he said simply. "Thank you."

"My element, water, is the element of healing, Keith. Did you ever wonder why you don't have your own elemental Tribe? The rest of us do. Lance is Fire, of course, and I am Water. Pidge is Air, and Hunk is Earth. But you, you are Spirit, Keith, and a part of you touches us all." She snuggled down next to him again. "We _must_ find the Water Tribes. They are out there, somewhere. And then," she yawned hugely. "I can help heal you." She pulled at the sleeping bag underneath them. "Can I please sleep beside you? I'm cold, and afraid of snakes… and I'm troublesome, I hear…"

"I'm not _letting_ you sleep anywhere else," he said, pulling the sleeping bag over them both. "There is no telling what kind of trouble might find you…" he kissed her gently; she was already falling asleep. "Goodnight, my princess," he whispered, looking up at the stars, his mind too full to sleep. He would watch over her until dawn. He had planned to already, but she had managed to remind him, yet again, how precious she was to him, how lost he would be without her… and realized, with a smile, that he might have been kept awake no matter what his intentions. The beautiful, amazing, bewitching, brave Princess of Arus snored.


	2. Chapter 2: Waking Dreams and Nightmares

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone again for the suggestions and encouragement. Mertz, otla, peacock feather, Rocky, Xia, kitten, and Heart, who will have to wait a bit for the fighting I'm afraid… K&A just don't seem to want to leave that beach… which brings me to the obligatory warning: **Adult situation following**, albeit what I consider a minor one, but then, not everyone thinks like me, thanks goodness, just consider yourself warned. Oh, and btw, the title, "Season of Mists" is taken from the first line of a Keats poem, "Ode to Autumn," which some of you may remember from MLiYS. I think Neil Gaiman may have used it as a title for one of his Sandman comics, I can't remember, but if he did, Keats was my inspiration, _not_ Neil, although he _is_ one of my favorites, too….

Playlist: Thom Yorke, "Black Swan," and Lloyd Cole, "Down on Mission Street."

All standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc..

Chapter Two:

Waking Dreams and Nightmares

Keith was dreaming.

It was odd, because usually his dreams weren't so… lifelike.

Usually his dreams were fuzzy and difficult to remember, and there was always something unreal about them, like walking down a hallway that kept growing longer as he went, or of having tea with dead people. And then, when he awoke, the dream would fade, get fuzzy, and he would have difficulty remembering the details.

This dream was almost entirely about the details.

He was back on the beach where he had fallen asleep next to Allura some time towards dawn. There was sand scattered throughout the sleeping bag, and he could see the depression where she had rested next to him the night before.

But she was gone.

Fighting panic, he jumped to his feet and ran towards the ruined main building, thinking she had gone back to the changing room, or perhaps was in Blue Lion, communicating with Koran, or Lance….

A sound like bells floated up on the ocean breeze behind him, stopping him in his tracks on the cracked and blasted red tiles of the courtyard. When he turned he knew without a doubt he was dreaming. Princess Allura stood waist deep in the ocean, wearing nothing but her wet, long, golden hair. _She's so much freer in dreams, _he thought_. Last night, she was so shy, so scared…_

Around her swam several of the strangest creatures he had ever seen. They resembled stingrays, except they lacked the pointed, sword-like appendage on their noses. Their bodies were translucent, yet, at the same time, they pulsed with a rainbow of quickly shifting colors. They swam up to Allura in pairs, pulsing bright purples and greens and blues as she reached out to stroke them, murmuring to them happily, exactly as if she was speaking to real people who could understand her. They murmured back, in long, sustained single notes of sound that resembled the striking of a bell. She laughed, relaxed and happy, her blonde hair shining in the sun, the skin of her arms tanned, but white where she usually rolled up her sleeves in the garden… He almost stopped breathing, watching her. She was radiant in the water, completely unselfconscious of the fact that she was swimming naked. But then, it made perfect sense, although dreams didn't have to make sense.... The sweat suit she'd slept in would become heavy and waterlogged, and she wouldn't want to get her now-dry uniform wet again… What amazed him was the way she seemed so… shameless, so completely at ease with nothing but the water against her skin. He had never seen her this way before. Always, there had been some life or death situation, like Lotor in her room with a knife, and it had always been colored with the darkest rage and despair.

He crept quietly down the stone steps and stood on the beach, watching. Allura leaned in very close to one of the creatures, as if listening to it, and then grasped one of its wide, graceful…wings?...fins?...in each hand, and then…disappeared. Keith felt an intense panic as she disappeared under the water, and he found himself running into the water after her, gasping in shock as it hit his ankles. He realized several things at once.

The water was _cold_.

He wasn't dreaming.

And Allura was nowhere to be seen.

It took him perhaps two seconds to strip off his sweatpants. The material would only drag against him in the water, slowing him down, and he had no idea how long or how far he was going to have to go to find her, or what kind of creatures had carried her off…. He dove forward into the surf, knifing underneath the water's surface, eyes open and stinging as he tried to see through the murky seawater. Holding his breath, he swam against the current, breaking the surface far enough from the shore that their campsite from the night before was nothing but a dark spot against the white sand.

"Allura!" he yelled, beyond panic now. He was far out enough that he couldn't touch. Treading water, he desperately scanned around him. He saw some of the strange sea creatures flipping and swimming in the water several yards in front of him. Knowing Allura had been holding one when she disappeared, he swam towards them, intending to grab one and… he wasn't sure after that. His feet touched sand as he came within just a few feet of the creatures, who had stopped their swimming and were merely floating, staring at him with bulging, fishy eyes that seemed disturbingly intelligent… "Allura!" he called again, looking around him, his panic almost overwhelming…

His calls turned into gurgles as he was grasped firmly around both ankles and dragged under the water. He fought furiously, kicking against whatever was pulling him down, and he felt himself released immediately. He shot up through the surface of the water and planted both feet as firmly into the sand as he could, his fists raised before him, ready to fight whatever had grabbed him, because it had probably grabbed the princess, as well. He tensed himself, waiting, waist deep in the water.

"Holy hells, Keith!" Allura yelled, surfacing behind him, still wearing nothing but her long golden hair, which clung to her shoulders and chest. He flushed, realizing he was having a completely typical male reaction, having trouble tearing his eyes away to meet her eyes. Except that he couldn't meet her eyes, because she had both her hands pressed against her left eye and nose, which was dripping blood. "Ow, ow ow!" she yelled, hopping up and down in the water. "You have the worst sense of humor…you can't even take a dunking…you and Lance dunked _me_ once, remember?"

He felt sick at the sight of blood because it was her blood, and he was rapidly realizing what had happened… "That was you?" he asked stupidly. At her wordless nod, he closed the distance between them, gently prying her hands away from her face. He hissed. Her nose was swollen and bleeding, and her eye was rapidly swelling shut. A bruise was blooming on her left cheek, as well. "Oh my god," he breathed, horrified. "Allura… oh no… I had no idea… I thought you'd been taken, or drowned, and then, when you grabbed me…" He wasn't sure which was worse, thinking he'd lost her, for good this time, or knowing that the marks on her face were his fault… "There's a med kit with the Lions…" he said, grabbing her hand to pull her behind him, completely oblivious to their state of undress, knowing only that he felt sick and furious with himself.

"I don't think I can, Keith," she said, sitting down heavily in the surf. Blood was leaking from her nose as foamy waves crashed around her waist. Her knees peeked above the water, and she had huddled into herself. The strange rainbow colored creatures hovered just beyond her reach, watching the proceedings solemnly. "I'm dizzy… and besides," she looked at him and he swore he saw wicked merriment in her one eye. "I'm enjoying the view from here just fine."

Keith looked down at himself and blushed furiously. He realized his sweat pants were quite a ways down the beach, cast on the sand. _Not important_, he thought. _I just need to get the med kit…_ He stood as straight as his dignity would allow, meeting her gaze squarely. "I need to get you fixed up, Allura. I'll be right back." He turned to walk away, and he could almost feel her gaze boring a hole in him as he went…

Allura, for her part, was enjoying herself even as her face screamed at her. She knew she had scared him to death, disappearing like that, but there was no way she was going to sit on the shore, safe in her tent-like gray outfit, and watch while the first Narwhals she had seen since she was six years old called to her from the sea. She could feel them behind her even now, could hear their bell-like murmurs of concern and interest… She watched as Keith stalked away across the sand. _Serves him right, for kicking me…_ she thought, as smugly as was possible for someone with a bleeding nose. She let him get almost past the campsite, wickedly enjoying both the view and his concern, when she called out to him. "Keith! Wait! They can heal me!"

He paused, seeming to debate the merits of continuing onward, to the Lions and the med kit and _some_ kind of covering, or turning to her and risking full exposure once again. She watched as he flushed from head to toe, and knew before he turned around and strode back to her, grabbing his uniform on the way, that concern for her had won out over his embarrassment. She would have to ponder that later. It appeared that the commander of the Voltron Force was modest in the extreme. She wondered idly if it was cultural, an Earth thing, perhaps, and then remembered Nanny's horrified blabbering about Lance walking around naked in front of her in the hot springs. _No,_ she thought, amused as her red-faced commander strode quickly back to her. _It's just Keith._

"Watch," she told him, scooting back further into the water, sill sitting, because she hadn't been kidding about being dizzy, until the water came up to her neck and the Narwhals could swim up to her again. "Yes, it's ok," she murmured to them, petting the pair that had come to her across the back. They always swam in pairs, mated for life, and if one died, the other soon followed. The male looked at her anxiously, rubbing the ridge of his spine underneath her hand, and called to her in a long, low, sustained, note.

"If you wouldn't mind," she said, continuing her stroking. "It does hurt."

The female responded with a higher pitched note, closer to a human squeal, and she trembled slightly under Allura's hands. "He didn't mean to hurt me," she said, guessing the source of the Narwhal's concern. For the hundredth time, she cursed Kiari's block on her mind. Without it, she would be able to communicate with these wondrous, almost legendary creatures…but then, Kiari had also been firm that the burning would be back, as well… "I played a trick on him, and he thought he was defending me…" The female made a lower sound, and pressed herself more firmly against Allura' hand. The creatures began to glow a bright gold, and Allura closed her eyes, feeling their warmth creep into her, feeling the pain ebb from her face. When she opened her eyes, _both_ of them opened, and she touched her nose gingerly, feeling no pain. Keith gaped at her from the shore. "Thank you," she murmured, petting the creatures, which had now turned a deep shade of blue. "I have to go now," she told them, regretfully, and stood in one fluid motion, water streaming down her, and walked slowly towards the shore, past a dazed Keith, to collapse on the sleeping bag they had shared the night before. She wrapped it around herself and stared out to sea, watching as the glowing creatures leapt and played, swimming father and farther out, until the were nothing but blips on the horizon.

"What just happened?" Keith asked her, crouching down beside her huddled form. He held out her dry uniform, and she noticed, with a start, that he had managed to put his own on rather quickly. She was sad at the Narwhal's departure, and wondered, suddenly, why she had been so shy with him, changing clothes in the moonlight the night before, yet today, she had gone swimming without a stitch on with the beautiful, almost mythical Narwhals, almost as if she had forgotten there was such a thing as skin…

"I told you water was the healing element. Especially for me." She smiled up at him, a little sadly, he thought, but there was no trace of blood or bruises on her face. "The Narwhals. They healed me." Tears shined behind her eyes as she held the sleeping bag around her. "I haven't seen one since I was six. Since I was here last. I was afraid they had disappeared…just more victims of Zarkon's attacks… but to see them, to swim with them…" She clutched the uniform to her. She couldn't explain. "Keith, I am sorry I disappeared like that. It's just that, well, they _called_ me, and I had to go…"

He dropped to one knee and looked at her intently. "I am glad your…Narwhals…aren't extinct, and _very_ thankful they could heal you," he said carefully, evenly. "But never, _ever_ disappear on me like that again. I am supposed to protect you, and I can't do that if you keep disappearing on me." He ran his hands though his wild hair, making it stick up even more. "And do not, do not _ever_, sneak up on me like that. Allura, I could have _killed_ you." She nodded at him, ashamed of herself. She had seen him fight. She knew how deadly he could be.

"I'm sorry, Keith," she said, looking down at the sand.

He sighed, frustrated. "It's ok. _I'm_ sorry, Allura. When I thought I'd lost you, and then, when I saw what I did to your face…" his voice cracked. "I would kill someone who did that to you…" He looked at her, huddled, naked and wet, in the sleeping bag, and he wanted to crush her to him fiercely, and never let her go. A fierce need to touch her almost knocked him over with its intensity, and he knew, if he touched her now, touched her sun-warmed skin, they would be lost. Yet he also felt sick at the memory of the damage he had caused. He could still her bloody nose, her swelling eye…it could have been so much worse. He stood and took a step backwards. "Allura," he choked out, "I've got to… I have to pack… we can't stay here…"

She saw the fear and desire warring in his eyes, and the quick way he withdrew from her, and she wanted to scream with frustration. They had both been swimming, _naked_, just a few minutes before… but she had disappeared, and he had thought she was dead, and then he'd hurt her… She sighed. She had scared him, and he'd injured her. Accident or not, it didn't matter to Keith. He held himself to such rigid standards of honor and protection. She was going to have to wait on him. Again. _How long do I have to wait for you, Keith?_ She wondered, as he trudged back to Black Lion, loaded down with supplies. She dropped the sleeping bag and slipped into her uniform. She was frustrated and hurt and needy and confused, but she would wait, since she seemed to have no choice. A _little_ longer.

VVVVV

The sleek, silver space cruiser floated just behind the asteroid shower. Lotor stared at his instrument panel with yellow eyes narrowed to slits. The asteroid shower was small enough to help cloak his presence, but not so large that it disrupted his spying. His cruiser was equipped with the most state of the art cloaking devices the Drule Empire had to offer, of course, but the unpleasant surprises of the last few days had him on edge. Just a few weeks ago, he wouldn't have thought twice about the need for extra cloaking, or the advisability of sneaking around Planet Arus even more than usual. But the bizarre and unexpected alliance with McClain Aeronautics and Industrials had changed all that. He snarled. How that had come about still baffled him, but he applauded Allura's resourcefulness even as he cursed the extra challenges it presented him. His spies were looking into that as well, and although he didn't yet have reliable sources within the Castle of Lions, Earth was quite another story, and he had already ferreted out the recent change in leadership within the corporation.

That a girl even younger than Princess Allura was now running one of the largest arms and weapons suppliers in the galaxy was interesting, very interesting… He punched up the file his spies had prepared for him. Charlotte McClain, sixteen years old, close to seventeen, now, he corrected, and heiress to not just her father's vast corporate empire, but also her mother's lands and title in Ireland. The recently deceased Arthur McClain had styled himself an aristocrat, but the truth was that he had practically bought the title. Lotor sneered. He had no respect for purchased aristocracy. The man had been nothing but an upstart peasant, and, with the mysterious disappearance of his only male heir, the title evaporated back into the dust from which it came. That might be worth looking into, he mused. A disgruntled heir reappearing from nowhere might throw things into just the kind of chaos he needed right now…

The mother, though…he touched the screen again… was Earth nobility through and through, land and title handed down for generations. A Viscountess? And at least partially incapacitated, according to his spies. He shook his head. Paltry nobility, compared to the Drule Empire, but nonetheless, the mother's title, lands, _and_ her father's company would pass to the girl… Charlotte… He looked at the several images of her on his viewscreen. With reddish hair and blue eyes and delicate features, she was not unattractive, as human women went. Certainly no Allura. But her direct meddling in his affairs had brought her to his attention, now, and not in a good way… she would have to be dealt with, sooner or later.

With the crushing defeat of his father's forces just a few days before, Zarkon was finally beginning to take him more seriously. His father had stopped tormenting him about his "unhealthy" obsession with the princess of Arus, and had instead seemed willing to listen to a few of Lotor's ideas. Zarkon finally seemed to be coming around to the idea that his older, more conventional style of warfare that relied on massive attacks and little resistance just simply wasn't working anymore. They were going to have to learn to be… more circumspect… rather than simply throwing Robeast after Robeast at something as indestructible as Voltron.

He sighed happily at the three-dimensional image in front of him. He had _no_ idea, when he planned this little reconnaissance trip, that he would strike literal gold. He punched a touchscreen, making sure he was recording this particular little image, as the Princess of Arus swam naked in the ocean near what had once been a thriving plantation. Yet another of his father's victories provided the backdrop of this most enchanting vision… it would be so easy to forget that he was here to figure out what she was doing here, away from the castle, and not just spy on _her_…

He snarled as a second figure appeared. _Him._ Commander Keith Kogane, leader of the Voltron Force. Lotor's hands clenched into fists, his enjoyment suddenly and completely gone. _Why is he always near her_? He snarled mentally. _No matter_, he tried to convince himself. The man was an obstacle, an inconvenience, that was all. Lotor would kill him while his princess watched, perhaps prolonging the agony to watch her beg… He pulled slowly out of the asteroid belt to return to Doom. He had seen enough. He knew the princess was away from the castle, and was minimally guarded. It was time to put his plan into action, and soon, his long, patient waiting would be rewarded.

VVVVV

Kiari found him, as she so often did, sitting on the stone steps leading to the garden. He stared off into the gathering dawn, and it was a measure of how full his mind must be, his mind _and_ his heart, that he didn't hear her approach. It was rare that she was able to sneak up on him. This morning, all she wanted was to check in on him, as she had been doing since he had changed so abruptly after the last crushing victory against her people's great enemy. He had changed, and not for the better. His heart was heavier, his smiles less frequent, and the fire in his eyes was a smoldering coal rather than the full, dancing blaze of mischief she had come to enjoy, and even look forward to.

In short, she was worried about her friend. Lance McClain was brooding, and people with Fire orientations did not brood well. If it went on too long, they tended to explode.

"Good morning," she said courteously, several steps from him. She did not want to surprise him while standing too closely to him. Such a mistake might be…costly. He barely acknowledged her presence, mumbling something in reply. She frowned. _Not very polite_, she thought. _Another bad sign._ "I brought coffee," she said, moving to his side. "May I sit?"

He looked at her then, as if realizing who she was for the first time. "Uh, yeah, thanks," he mumbled, as she handed him one of the steaming mugs she held. He held it in his hand, staring off into the twilight of morning, at the flowers that were pushing themselves mightily up out of the earth. They were a riot of color, every imaginable hue represented, all blending together somehow to create a harmonious whole…

"They're beautiful," Kiari said, watching him as she sipped her coffee. It was not bad. But then, she hadn't even tried to make it herself. Cooking was not one of her skills. If she had lived in different times, she would have learned at her mother's elbow from a young age how to prepare meals for her large and important household. Instead, the hand that gripped the mug of coffee, claimed from one of the young orphan girls who had been pressed into service as a maid, was covered with calluses, scars, and burns, the marks of a warrior of her people. She smiled. She and Allura had discussed this before her friend had left to find the Water Tribes. Neither of them could cook, and their coffee could be bottled and shipped to Doom as poison.

"I got it from one of the kitchen girls," she reassured Lance, noticing he hadn't taken a sip. "I didn't make it myself, so it's safe."

He finally cracked a smile, coming back to himself. "Yours isn't as bad as Allura's…" he said, taking a big gulp. "And thank you. I'm something of a zombie until I get a couple of cups in me…" He stared at the flowers again. "Those purple ones just came up today," he said. "It's too bad she's not here to see them."

Kiari's heart broke for him. She could see, with her unique mental abilities, the silver cord stretching away from him, in two directions instead of one, and knew that he felt it tightly, as a strangulation, instead of as the bond it was. She sighed. She was coming to care for him, if for nothing else than as a very good friend, one who shared her element, and therefore, her temperament and passions. She wanted to help him, but she was afraid he wasn't going to let her. Not when he was still hurting from letting _her_ go…

"You did the right thing, Lance," she said, as he looked at her in surprise. "Nothing done out of love is ever wrong. Letting her go, letting _both_ of them go, was an act of love to the highest degree." She sipped her coffee, avoiding his eyes.

"I wonder… if things might have gone differently…" he whispered, his voice strangled and tortured.

"Maybe," she admitted. "Might-have-beens are dangerous things, though, in my short, bitter experience." She squinted up at the sky. "You have at least a couple of hours before you drag your luckless colleagues into their Lions for practice, yes?"

"Yes," he sighed. He was pushing Hunk and Pidge hard, almost as hard as he was pushing himself in Keith's absence, trying to bury himself in work, hoping it would help erase the pain and purposelessness that haunted him now.

"We have just enough time to have breakfast together, if you will accompany me, Lance McClain," she said solemnly. "It would please me very much. I would 'owe you one,' as I believe you say."

"I don't have much of an appetite, these days," he said unenthusiastically.

"Where I am from, if a lady asks you to take her to a meal, you accept, or risk her wrath." She allowed her mug to clank against the sword she wore at her hip. "I am not a lady whose wrath is pleasant."

_It's so hard to tell when she's kidding and when she's threatening to kill me_, Lance thought. "Yes, and I'm being a rude bastard, I know, and I'm sorry."

"There are many kinds of love, Lance McClain, and what I have seen of your heart leads me to believe there is room there for more than one person, and more than one kind." She stood, extending her hand down to him, clearly a woman who was used to being obeyed. "I will make you a promise. Come with me to Saran's apartments for breakfast, and watch the many kinds of love and chaos that greet us there, and I will tell you the story of the time I fed pepper cheese to Princess Allura's pet mouse."

He looked at her, suddenly on fire with eagerness. He had tried and tried to get that story out of both of them, and neither would budge an inch; the two of them would merely look at each other and burst into _very_ uncharacteristic giggles. "Of course, my lady," he said, standing and placing her arm over his, as if the whole idea had been his, all along. "There's nothing I'd rather do than have breakfast with you and your countrymen." _After all, how bad could it be?_ He wondered, all her talk about many kinds of love and room enough in his heart forgotten as he thought about the dirt he was about to get on either her, or Allura, or hopefully, both of them…

VVVVV

Saran's apartments sat at the very end of the same guest wing that housed his mother and sister, and Kiari herself. Nanny had thrown a fit when Allura had presented the deadly desert warrior to her, outlining the size and needs of his household. The older woman had wound up having to combine no less than three of the regular guest suites into one to accommodate them all, and, truthfully, another suite would have been put to good use as well. "Barbarians," Nanny had huffed, when she thought no one was listening, but Kiari had heard, and had decided that exact moment was a perfect time to pull her long knife from its sheath on her thigh and examine it closely for nicks and scratches. Nanny had hurried away.

Lance was still quite a bit intimidated by the fierce, dark man, although he would never admit it out loud. But he didn't recognize the man who opened the door. Gone was Kiari's scowling guardian, dressed forever in black. Instead, Saran answered the door in what must have been his house robe, his face unshaven, his eyes and gray hair wild. He shoved a squalling toddler into Kiari's arms. "Thank the goddess you are here, _seertsa_. Aneen has not stopped crying for you since you left last night. She insists you owe her a story." He looked Lance up and down with barely a scowl, which was almost friendly, considering Lance had tied him up and stuffed his own socks into his mouth as a gag not that long ago, mistaking him for an intruder.

Kiari dragged Lance behind her with her free hand, bouncing the crying child on one hip with the other. He stood in the middle of what looked like mass chaos, and almost turned right around and ran away. Kiari's strong grip on his hand stopped him.

Family and chaos was something he was used to, just of a different brand than the kind that confronted him now. His own family history was tortured and painful, but it had been largely quiet, almost deathly quiet, and the kind of noise and calamity he was faced with now only happened when a major fight was underway. His abusive father had passed away within the last year, and although Lance hadn't even known about it until months after the funeral, his presence wouldn't have been welcome. He had been disinherited and shipped off to a foster family right before his fourteenth birthday, and had been pretty much on his own since then. He had begun running away from the McClain household for most of his childhood, and his foster family was really just an extension of that kind of existence… Kiari, as if sensing where his mind was, smiled reassuringly at him and tugged on his hand.

Two young women, near his own age, bustled around a long, low table that looked like it could seat well over a dozen people, setting it with steaming bowls covered with loose, colorful cloths. Older children set out plates and cups and bowls of fruit, while slightly younger children chased toddlers around trying to comb their hair or force them into clothing other than the loose house robes they wore.

"No!" screamed a petulant little girl of about four years old, running from an older sibling holding a hairbrush. "Want Kia to do it! You pull too hard!" The little girl squealed and ducked between Lance and Kiari, gripping the red-haired woman's legs for dear life. Kiari sighed, and handed Lance the squirming toddler, who looked at it as if it was a mysterious engine Hunk had just told him to fix. Kiari settled herself onto a nearby cushion, produced a brush from somewhere, and went to work on the little girl's hair. She looked at him, gaping at the child in his arms, and burst into laughter.

"You put one arm under his bottom, and the other across his back," she explained, green eyes dancing, her fingers moving swiftly through the young girl's hair, twisting it into one long braid. "And you just try not to drop him. And _no_, Ara, it will stay neater this way." Kiari finished with Ara's long hair, and another little girl immediately replaced her.

"You're Lance McClain," accused a solemn boy who looked to be about twelve years old. He was the spitting image of Saran. "You are the pilot of the Red Lion."

"Uh, yes, that's right," Lance said, gripping the toddler just as Kiari had instructed; he had mysteriously stopped crying and was sucking his thumb.

"I am Gavin," he said, solemnly. "I am a warrior, as well. I have killed almost a dozen of Zarkon's soldier's. How many have _you_ killed?" the boy asked, as if discussing how many fish he'd caught, or how many horses he'd ridden…

"Uh, I don't really know," Lance said, taken aback, as always, by the bizarre mixture of warmth and deadliness of Kiari's people. The toddler was now pulling fiercely on his hair.

"Gavin, you are being rude," Kiari admonished. The boy hung his head, abashed. "Take your brother from our guest, and see if you can help your mother in the kitchen."

Free at last, Lance almost dove into the cushions next to his laughing, red-haired friend. As the last little girl scampered away, she turned to him, hairbrush still in hand. "Yours is awfully messy, too," she threatened, leaning into him against the cushions.

"I like it that way! It's the style, back on Earth…" he protested as she advanced even closer, hairbrush raised.

"Shush," she insisted, nearly straddling him now. He flushed almost as red as his hair, but she was smiling. _Oh, she will pay_, Lance thought, smiling in spite of himself. _You will pay, my desert princess…_ So he laced his hands behind his neck, leaning back against the cushions entirely now, no longer fighting as she ran the brush through his wild reddish-brown hair. The household ran wild around them as she leaned closer into him, her green eyes inches from his blue ones…

"Kia owes me a story," a little girl announced, tugging on her arm. Kiari didn't even look up from Lance, her heart leaping as she saw his dark, brooding mood lifting in the midst of so much chaos and affection, as she knew it would. "Get lost, Aneen," she said, trailing the hairbrush down the side of Lance's head. "I'll tell you one later. Or maybe Lance will…"

"You like him, Kia," the girl named Aneen whispered loudly. "And I'm going to tell."

Kiari reached out and smacked the child on the rear with the flat of the brush. "I'll feed you to the next Hell Beast we see, if you do," she said, glancing back to see Lance's reaction. He laughed out loud. Kiari shrugged as the girl stuck her tongue out at them. "Kids," she said, her heart light.

"Who _are_ these people? Did Saran bring your entire clan with him?" Lance asked, trying to make sense of the chaos.

"Hardly. This is merely Saran's immediate family. He has two grown sons, with families of their own, and a married daughter as well." She scooted next to him and pointed. "The two women setting the table are his second and third wives." She ignored Lance's slack-jawed stare. "Mara's husband was killed by a Robeast. He was trying to distract it so the rest of them could get away… Mara was left with a daughter to support, Ara, the first little girl whose hair I brushed. The brown-haired young woman is Tressa, and she is Saran's third wife. Her husband was killed by an invasion of ground troops… she brought a young son with her, and is also the mother of Zharka, the most spoiled baby _ever_, since she is Saran's youngest…" Lance was struggling to close his mouth. "Ana is in the kitchen. She is Saran's first wife, and his only one, for a long time. I do not think Mara and Tressa would be here if she had not insisted on it," she confided to him in a whisper. "Times have changed for our people, after Zarkon's attacks. There are so many young widows. Plural marriages are becoming more common, as they used to be back in our ancestor's days. That is what I meant to show you, Lance. That there are many kinds of love. Mara is pretty much like an aunt, or widowed daughter come back home, but Tressa… well," Kiari shrugged. "Who can judge the heart and its mysteries? And everyone loves that spoiled little baby. This household is messy and chaotic, and tempers flare, and when they fight, you will be able to hear it clear across the castle." She slipped her hand into his, shyly. "But can you feel the love in this room? Underneath the chaos?" He felt her lips against his ear, whispering softly. "I just wanted to show you that love can be messy and chaotic, and hard, but it doesn't have to hurt, not all the time, Lance McClain," she said.

He watched as an older woman, her dark hair shot through with gray and her face etched lightly with lines from smiling, emerged from the kitchen with a huge, steaming platter. As she set the platter down in the center of the table, the rest of the household surrounded her, chattering as they found their seats. Everyone seemed relaxed and happy. Kiari held his hand a little more tightly. "Come on," she whispered. "I intend to fill you so full you won't be able to torture poor Pidge and Hunk today." Eyeing the huge meal spread out in front of him, he wondered if she might be right.

"Just a second," he told her, not letting go of her hand. He grabbed his comm. unit and whispered in it. He smiled hugely at her. "I think you might be right about that. I just cancelled Lion practice. Besides," he gave her a shove towards the table. "I hate to sound like that little girl, Aneen, but you owe me a story."

He found himself seated directly between Saran and Kiari, a position, she told him, that was a place of honor. Since Saran did little but scowl at him still, he found himself almost babbling to Kiari on his other side in order to avoid his host as much as possible. The girl, Aneen, sat on Kiari's other side, and seemed to be able to talk even more than he could, however, so much of the meal was spent with Lance stuffing his face and mumbling to his host and the women about how good it was. He wasn't lying, either. _I'll have to get Hunk invited to one of these things,_ he thought. The food was delicious, and the people were loud. Just the kind of thing his teammate would enjoy. He perked up when he heard Kiari trying furiously to shush the little girl to her other side.

"I couldn't be friends with someone who fed firepepper cheese to my pet, but then, she is the princess, so I suppose it is the diplomatic thing to do…"

"We _are_ good friends, our parents saw to that when they…um…punished us, and besides, things that seemed really serious as children have a way of looking silly over a decade later, Aneen," Kiari said, trying to exercise some damage control. "So, Lance, how do you think the new L-22 training program is going? Saran selected three of the best warriors of our clan…"

Lance hadn't become a consummate poker player to fold so quickly, though. "Hmm. _Fire_ pepper cheese. I've never had that. I wonder if it's any good," he said loudly in the little girl's direction, helping himself to another sweet, chewy roll.

"Oh, it's ever so hot. I could never eat it, myself. And that mouse was soooo upset, wasn't he, Kia?" Aneen continued, innocently.

"He got over it," she mumbled, stuffing some fruit in her mouth.

"Did you ever get your necklace back?" Aneen asked. "Wasn't that what the fight was about? That a boy gave you a necklace that was meant for the princess? And you _both_ liked him, so you fought each other for it? And then the princess sent her mouse to steal it from you?" The little girl looked at Lance. "_I_ would never fight over a boy. There are so many more important things, like Hell Beasts and blood debts…"

Lance did his best to nod at her seriously. Kiari looked positively green. She choked down the last of the fruit and looked at Lance sheepishly, who smirked back.

"So you actually _fought_ with Allura when you were girls? Over a boy? What _kind_ of fight are we talking about here?" he asked.

Kiari blushed fiercely. "Oh, it was a really bad one, with hair pulling, and rolling around on the floor, and everything. And I _would_ have won, but it got broken up much too quickly." She shot Saran an evil look. He merely grinned back at her. "Of course, Allura swears _she_ would have won… "

"Did you get your necklace back?" Aneen asked curiously.

"No, it belonged to the boy's family. He had given it to me, because he liked me, but since we were all about eight years old, none of us realized how important it really was." Kiari slipped her hand into Lance's under the table. "It was a betrothal necklace, for Princess Allura, you see." She felt Lance stiffen in shock. "The little boy's parents were important nobles, you see, Aneen, and everyone's parents had decided it would be best if he and the princess got married."

Aneen looked confused. "Even though he liked you?"

Kiari nodded solemnly. "Yes. When you are a princess, a lot of the time it doesn't matter who you like."

Aneen's eyes were huge, digesting the information. "I'm glad I'm not a princess, then," she said, quiet for a full minute for the first time Lance had set eyes on her. "Who was it? What was his name?"

Kiari, still holding Lance's stiff hand, looked sad. "If he is still alive, and the odds of that are very, very slim, he would be a Duke now. His parents were Water Mages, and leaders of the Water tribes. Since Water was so clearly the princess's element, it was thought they would make a good match…" Kiari trailed off, looking down at her half-empty plate. She and Lance had not let go of each other's hands; they seemed locked together, one in surprise, one on sadness, hands clasped under the table. "His name was Nyle. Lord Nyle Lochlan, of the Isle of Mists, in the Northern Sea."

"Enough, Aneen," Saran ordered. "You chatter when you should listen. Help your brothers and sisters clear the table. You have riding lessons today." The little girl's fallen face perked up at the mention of riding, and she scampered off to do as she was told.

"I think they're checking someplace in the Northern Sea, Allura and Keith. They've almost given up hope," Lance whispered into Kiari's ear. "Everything so far has been deserted or destroyed."

Kiari's green eyes were solemn. "I shall pray that is not the case. The princess must find someone. There has to be someone out there… even if it's just _one_…"

"I'm sure you're right," Lance agreed, then added impishly, "_Kia."_

She smacked his arm lightly. "You must give me a nickname to call you, then."

"Lance _is_ a nickname."

"For?" she asked expectantly, her green eyes huge, her red hair escaping its complicated threaded-gold crown in wisps. He almost, _almost_, told her.

"Nope. You'll never get it out of me," he decided, snagging one last roll.

"That's what you think," she said with narrowed eyes. He wasn't sure if it was a promise, or a threat, but for the first time in many days, he was looking forward to finding out.


	3. Chapter 3: The Isle of Mists

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone for being so patient with me. I am used to updating more quickly, but I just got back from out of town, and hopefully will be back in the swing of things soon. Thanks, everyone, for the feedback, as well. I've been trying to update my profile page to keep everyone posted about what I'm working on, and I continue to be astonished by the number of requests I get about My Life in Your Service. I'll be updating that soon, I promise. Thanks to cms for the reminder. Anyway, enough from me already. Hope you enjoy Ch. 3.

Playlist: Andrew Bird, "Scythian Romance," and Calexico, "Crystal Frontier." (Saw them live. I'm still happy about it, too. Although that is partly why I was so slow updating.)

And, of course, all standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Three:

The Isle of Mists

They stood, side by side, on the banks of Lake Aeylene, the largest freshwater lake on the whole of Planet Arus. They leaned into each other slightly, and from afar, they were a study in contrasts; one golden head rested just below one black one, and one slim, shorter body fit almost perfectly into the side of one muscular, taller one. If the two figures had been a puzzle, they would have been the interlocking pieces needed to complete a whole. Despite their remarkable outward differences, and their even more remarkable inward ones, anyone observing them from afar, standing against one another on the banks of the great lake, would have thought they looked like one being, drawing strength and support from one another as they looked out across the horizon.

Princess Allura, in fact, desperately needed the support, both physical and emotional, of the man standing beside her. He seemed to sense this, and stood as still and straight as possible. The princess was shaking, and her long silence, a silence that had lasted since they landed at Lake Aeylene in their Lions and walked the short distance to where they were standing now, was an effort to control the hysteria roiling beneath the surface of her frozen features. Keith was deeply worried, on a number of levels.

First, because there _was_ no Lake Aeylene.

Second, because there were no people, either.

Third, and perhaps most selfishly, that meant there was no one to help Princess Allura heal her blanketed but burning mind, or to understand and use the potential powers buried within that mind. Without that training, they would be blind to future magical attacks from Witch Haggar and Planet Doom.

Fourth, after days of searching for survivors of the Water Tribes, the group of people who shared Allura's elemental orientation and were an essential part of restoring balance to the slowly recovering planet, they had found nothing but destruction, abandoned homes and fields, and crumbling ruins slowly being reclaimed by the wilds of Arus.

But here, they had found one new thing, and Keith, near the end of his own physical and mental limits, stuffed his own horror down as deeply as he could, to that place where he kept his darkest, most hurtful emotions, for the sake of the princess standing next to him, whom he would protect with his own life. He was afraid for her; he had only ever seen her like this once before, after Lotor and his soldiers from Doom had shot her entire personal guard, the Crown Prince of Doom himself killing her own personal body guard as he lay on top of her, trying to protect her.

Allura was shutting down, becoming unresponsive to the outside world, because not only was Lake Aeylene, where her parents had once had a vacation cottage, where her father had taught her to fish and swim, completely evaporated and marked with the deep, smoldering holes of bombs and other weapons of mass destruction, but it was also the first place of their entire disastrous, depressing journey where they had found bodies. Masses of them. Or rather, what remained of them, because there was nothing to bear witness to their humanity now except piles of bones, some of them charred, some of them bleached white by the sun, and remnants, here and there, of bits of fabric, perhaps a bit of jewelry, or whatever might have been carried in a pocket that had also been fire proof.

For that was what had happened to Lake Aeylene. The lake and the people who had once lived peacefully around it had vanished in a blaze of fire. That much was clear from the deep, charred pockmarks in the bottom of the lake. One arm around Allura, holding her steady, Keith was beginning to piece together, with his soldier's mind, what must have happened here, when Zarkon had begun the destruction of Arus over a decade ago. This place would have been among one of the first hit, he guessed, and hit hard. Why Zarkon would have chosen to unleash the kind of firepower necessary to evaporate an entire lake the size of Lake Aeylene made no sense to him. Perhaps Allura knew, or could guess, and might tell him when she got over the shock. But perhaps tyrants such as Zarkon had no reason at all for the things they did, and their actions served no purpose but their own darkness.

The people had been killed in a separate action than the destruction of the lake itself, he realized. People caught in a sudden apocalypse, a rain of fire, would have died where they were, going about their daily business, caught unawares in the open, or in their houses or places of business. These people had been sent to a central location. The collection of bones, for he was trying, with his clinical soldier's mind that had kicked in when he realized he had a mission and a mandate to protect the living woman at his side from the horrors of the dead and the past, was trying to no longer think of them as bodies, or even as human. _Bones_, he thought numbly. _Whatever was left of their humanity has long passed over…to what? To where? _His thoughts were splintering, and he tried to rein them back in. Death had not been personal for him since… since Beverly died, and he could not afford to let it be so now.

These people had been herded into a central location and killed all at once. It would have been quick, he tried to reassure himself. _I hope it would have been_, he added. He pulled Allura a little tighter into him, using both arms to encircle her closer to him. She had continued to shake, but seemed oblivious to his gesture of comfort.

"Over there," she said, pointing across the dry hole in the ground that had once been Lake Aeylene. "Over there is where our cottage was." She sounded dazed, empty. "My mother grew roses there. Roses grew well here. Big flowers and sturdy vines."

"You're doing well," he told her, holding her tight. Her warmth, her humanity in the midst of all the destruction, was reassuring. "It's easy to forget you're not a soldier, sometimes, Allura," he said. "You know, men who have been confronted with scenes like this their entire lives would be having trouble," he told her, softly, speaking into her flower-scented hair. _Like me_, he realized. _I'm having trouble._

"My father taught me to swim there. He said I was a natural, and that it was his first indication that I had more of a water orientation. I was swimming better than he was, our first time out. Most of the Royal family is Spirit, like you. To have an heir of Water… it should have been an early sign…" She was speaking in a monotone. It scared Keith.

"An early sign?" he prompted, wanting to keep her talking, to get some indication of where her mind was.

"That Arus would need a princess who could heal it," she whispered, her shivering more violent, now. Keith pulled her tighter to him. "But who could heal _this_? Not me… not anyone…" And she started crying then, burying her face in his chest, sobbing like he had never seen her sob before. Her sobbing was violent; she cried with her whole body, leaning into him, and if he had not been there, supporting her, she would have fallen. As it was, they stood together near the doorway of what had once been a church, in the center of the village that had once thrived, had lived and breathed around Lake Aeylene, clutching each other as if they were the last people on Arus, and Keith finally sank under the weight of her grief, slowly drawing the both of them down to the ground, where he could cradle her against his chest, pulling her into his lap, where she had twined herself many times before, to tease a kiss from him, or to speak of serious things. "Allura," he murmured, into her hair, rocking her as he would a child. He didn't know what else to do.

VVVVV

"We have to bury them," she said, sometime later. She had cried herself out, finally. Her face was red, her eyes were bloodshot, her nose was raw, and she had given herself an awful headache. Keith held her still, and she rested gratefully against him.

"Ok," he said, slowly, carefully. He had anticipated this. "How?"

"With the Lions," she said, thinking that a funeral pyre would be more traditional, given the sheer numbers…_But no more fire,_ she thought. _There has been enough fire here._ "At the side of the lake… or what was once the lake…" she trailed off, looking at the scorched earth before, remembering… "We will make a mound, of remembrance, and we will see if roses still grow well here…"

"Why would Zarkon target this area, Allura? Do you have any idea? It doesn't seem strategically important."

"I've been wondering that." It had been the right question to ask, because Allura sat up and made an effort to wipe her face and eyes, and to brush the dirt from her snow-white uniform. "It had to have been because of Blue Lion. He would have been trying to find it, and if he couldn't capture it for himself, then he would have wanted to destroy it, utterly. This lake would have been a good hiding place, but Father knew that, thank goodness, and planned around it." She snuffled and stood. There was steel in her blue eyes suddenly, as she surveyed the destruction. She felt the anger settling in, and it only strengthened her resolve. She looked at Keith, who looked back with mixed emotions.

"Do you realize, Allura, that this means you might be the last person with a Water orientation left on Planet Arus?" Keith said carefully. It was the one concern neither of them had voiced yet.

"No," she said sharply, emphatically. She was walking swiftly back to the Lions now, and he scrambled to keep up with her. "There will be others with Water _orientations_. What I need, and what we may not find, is someone of the Water Tribes, who will know the ancient magics."

"Why do some people have actual magic, and others only _orientation_s?" he asked. He had wondered why Lance, for instance, who so clearly had elements of Fire in his personality, could perform none of the feats that Kiari could. _She_ could create barriers to keep out dark magic, or to shield people's minds, and who knew what else, really…

Allura shook her head. "We think it travels in the bloodlines, back to the founding of the Royal house. The House of Altaire is very, very old; the dynasty has lasted for over a thousand years. There are many descendants, and sometimes they pop up in surprising places, but most of the time, it's only members of the ruling house or of lesser nobility who have the abilities…"

"And Kiari is…"

"Descended from the House of Altaire, yes, though you have to go back several generations."

He digested this as they walked back to the Lions. It explained a lot of things, but her quick explanation left him a bit spun. She had changed too quickly for his comfort; one second she had been crying, and now, she was striding towards her Lion as if all the legions of Doom would not be enough to stop her. He grabbed her arm, careful not to hurt her, and forced her to stop and look at him.

"Allura," he said, holding her still, his dark eyes boring into hers, "Are you sure you're all right?"

Allura wanted to scream with frustration. What _was_ it about this man, who seemed to understand so instinctively what she needed one minute, and was so incredibly dense the next? "_NO! I am NOT alright!"_ she yelled, and the tears that leaked out of the corners of her eyes now were hot tears of rage. She had been close to snapping, and he had just cut the thread. "What do you think, Keith? An entire settlement of _my_ people, people I, or my family, had sworn to protect, should have been able to protect, is _dead_, a heap of bones piled by the shore of a lake that doesn't exist anymore. Just when I think we've beaten him, just when we win against him, just a little, then we find something like this…" She had balled her hands into fists and pushed them against the arms that were holding her still. His arms. It was like trying to push against a deeply rooted tree. He was immovable, and his dark eyes did not waver, his concern for her plain.

"I was just wondering whether you were up to this," he tried to explain, doing nothing to stop her as she pounded on his restraining arms. "I'll do it, if you'd rather," he said, trying to reach her through her fury. He knew she wasn't trying to hurt him, only that she was breaking, finally, and he was glad he was there, with her, to catch her.

She realized what she was doing, and relaxed in his grasp. "Oh, Keith, I'm so sorry," she said. "I know you want to help me. And you can. But I have to be a part of it. If we use both Lions, it will go quickly, and then we can reach the Isle of Mists before nightfall."

Keith let go of her, surprised. "We're still going there? I thought Lake Aeylene was our last decent hope. I thought we were going in order of importance," he said, confused.

She looked even sadder, if such a thing were possible. "No. The Isle of Mists is last on the list because… because it's not my first choice." She had lowered her voice to a whisper. "In many ways, it's the worst possible choice, although we may very well find help there." She shook her head sharply, and the steel was back covering the grief. "Let's finish this," was all she would say.

Keith said nothing as he climbed into Black Lion, wondering what Allura was hiding, as he got ready to use Black Lion, the core of Arus's great defender, to dig a funeral mound.

VVVVV

_I buried her today, by the eastern shore, so her spirit can see the sun come up, as long as it lingers near her body. _

_I think she would have liked that. It is something I have had to guess at, this burial of my wife, what she would like, because I never thought to ask her, and she never thought to tell, and because we were young, and we were expecting a baby, and not a funeral, and now, I am all alone, and there is no one to ask, no one to help, no one to hold my daughter while I pile stones across her mother's grave. _

_I am alone on this island, alone with my newborn daughter, and the ghost of my dead wife._

_Who dies in childbirth these days? _

_Oh, yes, my own wife, since Zarkon cast us back into the dark ages. _

_This war has been the hardest on the women, I think._

_My daughter gurgles, makes baby sounds, from the nest of blankets I have placed her in. I flick my finger and dozens of tiny, silvery fish jump out of the water just for her, and she gurgles some more, but I do not know if she even realizes they are dancing for her because I asked them to. Because I want to make her smile._

_But it is even more selfish than that. I want to see anyone smile. Just one human smile, a sight I haven't seen for over three weeks now. I never realized how important a smile could be to feeling, to being, human. _

_But babies don't smile. At least, newborns don't. _

_My daughter has no name. Cat and I had picked out a few, but then, when things started to go so horribly wrong, watching as Cat hemorrhaged and I could do nothing to stop it, deciding on a name was just not important. And now, it seems wrong. It seems wrong to pick a name for my daughter, whom I watch with one eye, while I hold stones for a funeral cairn for her mother in my hands. _

_I am the last Water Mage in the Northern Seas, and I could not even save my own wife. _

_I can almost hear my old tutor in my head, gruff old thing that he was, telling me that I'm a Water Mage, not a doctor. We don't do that kind of healing, he'd say. But I would give anything, give all my powers, all my lands, empty, now, of people, save for two, to be able to have helped her. _

_All I could do was hold her hand, and watch the light fade._

_I would join her if I could. But I promised. _

_"Nyle," she said, weak and weary from the difficult birth. "You'll watch over her, won't you?" _

_As if she had to ask. _

_My daughter gurgles some more as I put the last heavy stone in place. I lift my hands a little and make motions with my fingers. The mists twist themselves into shapes pleasing to children. Mist is so heavy with water that we can make small illusions with it, we Water Mages. Nothing like the great illusions of the Air Masters, or even a decent Fire Mage, but it is a trick my own parents used with me, a trick I showed to Cat as we walked, my arms around her huge stomach, for safety and balance as much as love, on this very beach, and I showed her the shapes that would make our child laugh. My fingers shape a rabbit, and make it hop. My fingers shape a narwhal, a seal, a butterfly, and they all parade around the gurgling baby. _

_Children, I have discovered in the weeks since my wife's death, are flesh and blood promises we make to the future. Even if Cat hadn't made me promise to stay in this world and raise our daughter, I would have been powerless to do anything less._

_I pick her up, this child with no name, and cradle her close. I dangle the Lochlan pendant in front of her, its large, clear blue stone the exact shade of the sun flashing across the sea. It used to decorate her mother's neck. It was meant to go to another, but the princess of Arus is probably dead, along with the rest of her planet. The Castle of Lions was too strategic to escape Zarkon's worst. Of my insignificant landholdings, all but the Isle of Mists was destroyed, and that was probably spared only because it's impossible to see most of the time. The necklace went to Cat, instead, and it will go to my daughter, next. She reaches for it, gurgling. She is a good baby. Hardly ever cries._

_"For your mother," I tell her, even though my daughter will never remember this moment. I lay the pendant across the stone cairn, wedging it under a stone, for safety, where it will lay for the required seven days my people declared it would take her spirit to travel Beyond. _

_When those days are up, I will take my daughter, and we will leave. I will carry her until I find people, other people who survived, like me, or else I will find some kind of technology that will allow me to make off-world contact, and my daughter and I will leave this forsaken planet, and my tiny, but beautiful, piece of it, behind. _

_I will not raise my daughter in a tomb, with only ghosts to smile at her._

_But until then, as the mist hangs heavy on the beach, I indulge myself. I twist my fingers into more complicated patterns, and the mist takes the shape of a woman, and she has an open, kind face that I have loved since she first came here, fleeing Zarkon's attacks with a handful of others, and I fell in love with her, and gave her my betrothal necklace, and lived and loved with her until only the two of us were left. The mist-woman smiles at me, and although she is only mist, I do feel slightly more human. It is enough, for now. _

_In my arms, my daughter has fallen asleep._

VVVVV

Keith stood with Allura at the bottom of the large mound of freshly turned earth. Their work finished, neither of them had spoken for a while. Allura seemed completely lost in thought, but at least, Keith thought with some relief, she wasn't sobbing uncontrollably either. Blue and Black Lions stood as silent sentinels behind them. As the silence stretched on between them, Keith grew more and more uncomfortable. He hadn't been to a funeral since he'd buried Beverly, and that seemed like lifetimes ago. He looked at the woman standing next to him, and thought about his dead fiancée, and about how short life could be, and how unexpected its twists and turns, and he could no longer help himself. He reached for her, and pulled her arms around him.

"I don't know what funerals are supposed to be like, here on Arus, Allura, and I hope I'm not doing something horribly wrong, but I haven't been a part of… burying… anyone… since Beverly…" he finished lamely, communication completely breaking down. _I want to kiss you, I want to feel your warmth, your life_, he thought, knowing those were words he couldn't say. Not to her, here, while so many of her people lay buried under mounds of earth in front of them.

She smiled softly, sadly, glad for his arms around her. She shook her head. "I'm no expert on Arusian funeral rites, myself. Even if I were, I'm not sure there's a protocol for something like this." She turned to him, sliding neatly against his body, anxious for his warmth, as well. "If we're off the map, as Lance keeps saying we are, then I'd just like to say… something…I don't know what, that's respectful, like a prayer, or something." She looked at him shyly, actually blushing, and added, "I was kind of hoping that you might… you know… have a prayer, or something, that you could say."

Keith felt acutely uncomfortable all of the sudden. This was something they had never, ever talked about, but it was as intimate, to him, as anything else they'd shared. He'd heard her prayers before, quickly, sometimes, in the heat of battle, or whispered hastily, that someone would recover from a fatal wound, or be safe as they set out on a mission. But he'd never talked to her about religion, which he didn't believe in, or spirituality, which he didn't really have. What little grasp of faith he'd hung on to after his parent's death had been snatched away again when Beverly died. And he supposed she deserved to know.

"Allura, I don't pray. I don't believe in it."

He watched as myriad emotions played across her face.

"Not even for a _funeral_?" she asked, incredulous. "That these poor souls find some kind of… of rest? Can you not find words for that?"

He had clearly shocked her, and he felt worse than rude. But she deserved the truth. "I wouldn't even know how to go about it. I haven't prayed in… I can't remember when." As he watched her eyes fill up with tears, he added quickly, "But I do have something I can say, something that's as meaningful to me as any prayer, perhaps more so." He pulled her close, needing to feel her solid humanity in the midst of so much death. "I always carry it with me. Just give me a minute."

Allura sank to her knees at the foot of the mound as he left, closing her eyes and reaching for the few ritual prayers to her ancestors, and to the deities of Arus that she had memorized as a child. Few of them wanted to come. She was surprised that she remembered so little, and in the end, she settled for gathering a handful of dirt and sprinkling it across the mound.

"I'll come back," she whispered, tears clinging to her closed lashes. "I'll come back, and cover this mound with roses, and everyone on Arus will know what happened here, and I will come in Blue Lion, and we will dig, as deeply as we must, until we strike water and Lake Aeylene is full again. I promise," she said solemnly, before casting the dirt in front of her.

She felt Keith's presence behind her. She stood and brushed the dirt from her hands and her white uniform. "They always scatter dirt at funerals," she said, a little embarrassed. It had never occurred to her how _intimate_ a setting something like this could be. She wanted to kiss him, to remind herself that he was warm and alive, but also, she felt…embarrassed…that they were talking about things as intimate as spirituality, and death. _How can you not believe, Keith_? she thought, remembering that long ago day when she had made her prayer and her pledge to the warrior maiden of her planet. _How can you not believe when it was a prayer that brought you to me?_

He held a small, tattered book in his hands. "This is the best I can do, if you still want me to say something," he hedged, unaccountably nervous. At her nod, he cleared his throat and opened the book. "It's a poem. That's the closest I can come to praying, Allura." _And I'm only doing it out loud, because of you_, he wanted to say, but didn't.

"Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--

No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever--or else swoon to death."

He closed the book, red-faced. "Keats wrote that, just before he died. You told me, on Doom, that he was your favorite poet." Allura nodded wordlessly at this walking contradiction of a human being who carried poetry in his Lion and could kill people with his bare hands. "He's mine, too," he admitted, almost as if ashamed.

"You told me that," she said, suddenly, and uncontrollably, overcome with waves of strong emotion, not the least of which was desire. She pressed herself against him once more, her arms coming up around his neck, whispering against his surprised lips, "I always did like that one, myself. That bit about wanting to be as steady, as forever, as the star, but only with someone he loved…and if he couldn't, then he _did_ prefer death, to a life alone…" she kissed him, surprised at herself, as she clung to him at the base of the funeral mound. "This is _sooo_ completely improper," she whispered, kissing him some more. "What's wrong with me?"

"I don't know," he whispered back, in between her kisses, clutching her to him with both hands, the book dropped in the dirt at their feet. "Completely improper," he agreed, hands moving down her back.

"Lance…" she paused for just the barest second before pressing herself even more firmly to him. "He said people sometimes reacted to battle, like this, but I think death applies, as well…"

If Keith registered the pause, in conjunction with his friend's name, he didn't stop what he was doing. He gathered Allura up in his arms and carried her away from the mound, placing her gently on the ground at the huge metal paws of Black Lion. "Lance," he said, alternating words and kisses now, as he hovered above her, "says a lot of things." He looked down at her, propped on one elbow, her golden hair spread out around her, her lips swollen and her eyes bright. "One of the things he says is that poetry gets you women," he said, grinning wickedly.

"Oh, does he now?" she asked, sliding her hands up his chest, feeling the rippling muscles underneath. "He would laugh at us, if he could see this," she said, a bit wistfully, Keith thought.

"He'd laugh, but he'd be jealous, too," Keith whispered, rolling over on top of her, supporting his weight with his arms while the rest of him lay lightly against her. "Spouting off some poetry, rolling around in the dirt with a pretty girl," he said, kissing her mouth, face, neck…

"Mmmm," Allura murmured as her Keith blocked out the sun, and slowly infiltrated every single one of her senses: sight, smell, taste, touch, sound. "Lance who?"

VVVVV

_First night's vigil. I prepare for it by finding my daughter's warmest blankets, and my own warm cloak. I gather candles, milk and supplies for the baby, and my sturdiest staff. _

_I wear my sword, of course. I have not seen another soul on this island since Cat and her ragged band of refugees came here, years ago, but old habits die hard. I am the last of the Lochlans. I carry my staff and my sword everywhere I go._

_I think I am the first to do this with a baby, as well._

_After tonight, I will keep six more vigils, and then we can leave, my daughter and I. I have to believe there is a better life for her out there. The Isle of Mists has its own beauty, and I could teach her things here that she will need to know, if she carries the magic, but I have buried what was left of my heart on the eastern beach today, and I cannot think it a good thing to continue on here. _

_The sun is far from setting, but I have nowhere else to be, no one else to talk to. My entire universe is here on this beach with me, part of it buried under a pile of rock, part of it squirming in my lap, hungry. As I absently prepare her bottle of milk, I think of how difficult it was to learn the things one needs to know to care for a baby. Even still, my hands perform the motions awkwardly, spilling the milk, poking her with a diaper pin occasionally. Create fearsome walls of water that will crush everything in their wake? No problem. Call deadly creatures from the darkest deeps? Of course. Soften a hurricane's blows? Yes, certainly. Change a diaper? Well, at least I'm a fast learner._

_Perhaps her name will come to me tonight, as I watch over my wife's funeral cairn. _

_Settled, now, I let my mind drop into the lightest state of contemplation I know. I think of Cat, to honor her. I think of how we met, dwell briefly on our lives together, and I find myself thinking of how different my life would have been without her…It almost makes me grateful for Zarkon, although I know the thought comes close to heresy. I would be married, now, to the princess of Arus, ruling as her Prince Consort, most likely, had Zarkon not attacked and sent Cat to me. _

_You would not even exist, little one, I whisper into my daughter's mind. I catch the substance of her soft baby thoughts, and know she hears me, on some level. What should I call you? I want to know. Her mother's necklace glitters on the stones before us, and I feel myself pulled under, a vision taking me, suddenly…_

_My daughter is older, much older, although still a child, and she is running through a field of grasses and flowers. A rebuilt Castle of Lions stands in the distance behind her. A boy of about her own age, with dark hair and piercing, dark eyes runs behind her, laughing. He can't catch her, though. He stops in the field, which splits suddenly, violently, down the middle, opening up a fissure that he straddles with ease. My daughter lays on one side of the halved field, startled and frightened, as the perfectly balanced energies of good and evil swirl around this boy. The boy looks at her with his dark, dark eyes, and says to her, "Help me, Kate. You can tip the balance. Only you." _

_I awake with a start, to the sound of aircraft and my daughter's cries. Something is happening, something unforeseen. The gods are whimsical tonight._

_Only someone with a sense of Water Magic, or some very powerful technology, could find the Isle of Mists on a night like tonight. _

_And then I see her, walking up the beach, her golden hair flowing around her, her clothing so white she almost blinds. She looks just like her mother. She is the last person I would ever expect to see here. I thought she was dead._

_She stinks like Fire. I can smell the Fire magic on her, and something darker, something loathsome, and even across the beach, I can see the shields set around her, blocking off the burning, keeping it from consuming her entirely, stopping the foul dark magic from spreading any further. She needs help, that is clear enough. _

_A man shadows her. He also is shielded, but his mind does not burn, as hers does. The shield must be there for another reason, then, for this man has no magic of his own. _

_The Princess of Arus walks across the beach, and stops when she sees the cairn. She sees the necklace draped across it, the necklace that should have been hers. She looks at me, at the baby in my arms, at little Kate, for I know better than to argue with visions from the gods, and her face is full of grief and exhaustion. _

_"Oh, Nyle, I'm so sorry," she says._

_"I thought you were dead," I reply. _

_She smiles, then, a very little, and I feel my heart tug. A real smile. From a real human. The first I have had in three weeks. "No," she says slowly. "Just hiding. As I hoped you were."_

_"Were those Lions, that landed here?" I ask, already knowing the answer, already knowing what it means. At her slow nod, the man emerges from behind her. He absently fingers the sword at his belt. The Sword of Altaire. His face is almost a mirror image of the boy who balanced between good and evil in my dream. The boy who called to my daughter. Kate. I hold her tightly. It is a good name. It is close to her mother's. It will do._

_The gods are whimsical, and sometimes cruel._

_"This is Keith Kogane, Commander of the Voltron Force," she says. I see he wants to offer his hand, but mine are a bit full, with a staff in one hand and a baby in another. I can see, also, that he is not a bad man. A silver cord stretches between them, and trails off, into the darkness…_

_"Keith," she says, turning to him. He watches me intently, nonetheless. "This is Lord Nyle Lochlan, of the Island of Mists, the last known Water Mage on Planet Arus, and…" She takes a deep breath. I wonder if she will tell him. "My once betrothed."_

_His face is thunderous. _

_The gods, tonight, are cruel._


	4. Chapter 4: No More Waiting

Author's note: Thanks to everyone for being so patient with this. It was fun to write, but a bit of a challenge, because I wanted to have an entry for the KAEX challenge, which required more mature content. So, for those of you who don't know, there is a much spicier M version of this chapter that I posted last night. So the challenge has been to turn down the heat for those of you who have been sticking to the T version. As I have said millions of times before now, I'm working on a YA novel in addition to the Voltron fanfics, and the T line is something I need to navigate, at least for now. **Even so, this chapter still contains two adult situations. I would rate them a strong PG 13.** Please consider yourself warned if easily offended.

Playlist: Michael Jackson. (Hangs head in shame) and Edwin Starr, "Never Met a Girl…"

And all standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Four:

No More Waiting

Most of the time the Isle of Mists was a monotonous gray, covered with a thick white mist. Allura sighed. She should be grateful; the mist had spared Nyle, the last known Water Mage on Arus, and presently her tutor, from Zarkon's attacks. The Isle of Mists was, in fact, one of the few places that had escaped Zarkon's notice entirely. Most of the time its isolation depressed her, but it was perfect for her studies in the water magic of the mind that had passed to her with her royal blood, something that would not have been possible if Zarkon had succeeded in destroying the entire Lochlan clan, of which Nyle was the last, and only survivor. Except for his baby daughter, Kate. She smiled. Nyle needed help with Kate, being barely three weeks a widower, and she already loved the baby girl, loved holding her, loved dangling her long blond hair in her face as if it were the most exciting toy in the world, and did not mind it when Kate, entranced, tugged on it and stuffed it in her mouth. She hoped her own daughter, hers and Keith's, would be half so good, half so adorable.

_Our daughter_, she thought fiercely. _Mine and his._ She wanted that more than she wanted anything except the man himself. Her arms ached for them, sometimes, for her Keith and the children she would bear him, one day, and one day started _now_, had started long ago, before the stars were born, but they were wasting it…

No more waiting.

"There's no reason why he should remain blocked, Allura," Nyle told her that day as she worked through the basic exercises he was teaching her. She was shaping mist into balls, her eyes closed, but talking to Nyle all the while. He insisted that she must be able to perform these basics even while distracted; they would not move on to anything more advanced until she could. Eventually, they would fight each other while she formed shapes in the mist. Until she could do that, she would not be ready to learn anything more advanced, he insisted; as Royal Princess and a pilot of the Voltron Force, she _was_ the Team's only magical defense, and had to be able to use her powers in the heat of battle, as second nature, no matter what was going on around her.

"But Kiari's mental block…" she began, but he cut her off. She split one ball of mist into two.

"Good. Now make them smaller, tighter." He watched a moment. "Kiari's block on his mind dissolved long ago, unlike yours. There is something he doesn't want to face, to let out, and I don't know what that is." Nyle sighed. "Until he can do that, then true healing will not be possible."

She split the two into four. "What can I do, Nyle?" she almost wailed. She was so tired of Keith's walls, so tired of his defenses, and the way he hid it all behind his rigid sense of honor and protection.

"Make them glow," Nyle commanded. Eyes closed, she tried, and was rewarded with her tutor's murmured approval even as sweat broke out across her brow. Nyle sounded amused. "He carries the Sword of Altaire, you know," he said, "and only the Kings or Queens of Arus have ever done that before him. And you _are_ the Royal Princess. You carry the blood, he carries the Sword… he watches you as if… as if you are the last light in a very dark night, and you might go out, at any moment. Some would call it fate." Eyes still closed, she did not see him drop to his knees in front of her. Her mist balls broke apart as he gently held her shoulders. His blue eyes, almost the exact shade as hers, were piercing when she opened her own. "And you feel the same. Tell me you don't."

She said nothing.

He pushed her sweaty hair off her forehead and chucked her under the chin. "You are being silly, Allura Blue," he said, using the name that used to drive her crazy when they were children, when she had been betrothed to him practically out of the cradle, before Zarkon had destroyed their world and all the rules had changed. And now, a man from Earth with dark hair and eyes was holding Nyle's newborn orphaned daughter so that she could learn water magic, and she loved him, with all her heart and soul, and Nyle was a very good teacher and friend, and nothing more; he was still mourning his wife, a commoner, a refugee from the attacks, and he would never, he told her, marry again.

"I'm taking the block off your mind for longer today. Through the night. You have to get used to having total control of your mind again, Allura Blue, but you must come to me immediately if the burning starts again." He smiled at her crookedly as he heard Kate wail somewhere off in the distance. "If Keith lets his walls down, for any reason, remember that you will hear him, sense him, exactly as you did before you absorbed that Robeast's attack, and before the witch… ensorcelled him, unless you use the shielding exercises we have practiced." He looked towards the sound of the wailing, muffled and distorted by the mist. "Stop being silly, Allura Blue." His eyes looked ancient and lost as they studiously avoided the cairn, his wife's beachside grave, in the distance behind them. "Life is much too short for that."

"But tradition decrees…" she sputtered, hating it that she suddenly sounded like Nanny.

"Cat was as common as common could be," he said sadly. "Our marriage was certainly against tradition. Maybe even the law. Especially considering… well, you know. Us. But I loved her, and I would give anything, anything at all, to have one night, even one hour, even just one smile, from her again. The old Arus died ten years ago, Allura. We get to make a new one. Don't waste your chance." He stood up, brushing sand from his knees. "All I'm saying is that there is no one on this island but you, Keith, myself, and a squalling newborn, whom I am going to be up all night with either feeding, or diapering, or trying to catch naps in between the two, and I probably would not notice if a Robeast landed on my head. We're on the Isle of Mists, Allura Blue. This place is literally off the map. I'm still not sure how you and your commander found it, in fact. Do what you want, what you need. No one will know. Not even me." He walked down the beach a few paces before calling back to her, "I'm going to get Kate. Stop being stupid, Allura Blue. It doesn't suit you."

She stared at the water for a time after that, and then at Nyle's dead wife's grave. Nyle was almost exactly her age, and his wife had died, painfully, hemorrhaging after childbirth, and the only reason he was still drawing breath was because of their daughter. She thought of the fresh mound that covered the massacred bodies at Lake Aeylene. Cat had been one of the very few survivors. She shuddered, trying to imagine a life without Keith, without his steady watchfulness, the way he had of making her want to be the best person she could possibly be, his strength that was spiritual as well as physical, his rare smiles but dancing eyes, his wild hair that practically begged her to run her fingers through it…

And she was up off the beach and running towards the castle, towards her rooms that adjoined his. His idea. Security issues, he insisted. She raced for a bath, perhaps something to eat and then, when night fell, she would find him. _If he even looks at me wrong, I might lose my nerve_, she thought. She would keep to herself until nightfall. No excuses this time. Life was much too short. No more waiting.

VVVVV

Keith divided his attention between the sleeping baby and the couple on the beach. Kate was a good baby. She only fussed when she wanted something, and that seemed to consist of exactly three things: baby milk, a clean diaper, or human comfort. It had been Nyle who had shown him how to care for his daughter, showing him how to mix the formula with the carefully sterilized water and pointing out where he kept the scrubbed and boiled bottles. "I'm a Water Mage, and I can purify anything wet, but I still have to boil everything. It makes me paranoid, otherwise," the much too young widower said ruefully, shaking his head.

Keith merely nodded, unsure of what to say.

"Diapers are here, you can toss the dirty ones here, and if she's still crying, just hold her. She likes to hear heartbeats." They were in the Castle of Mist's cavernous kitchen, which was lit by a series of candles scattered across a long table down the middle of the room, and a huge fireplace that was always kept going, even if it was only banked embers. There was no electricity of any kind; the Isle of Mists had truly been blasted back to the Bronze Age when Zarkon attacked the mainland. "Plenty of hot water, though, being a Water Mage and all," their host had said cheerfully. Nyle had also shown him the pantries, which held a huge variety of shelf-stable food. "Since no one survived but me, we have a bit of a surplus," he tried to joke. "Oh, but I do make fresh bread. Twice a week. Cat showed me how. Insisted life without bread was less than human."

Keith had to admit, the bread was good. And if Nyle thought him strange, the leader of the Voltron Force with battle callused hands cradling his tiny daughter while he taught Allura how to use her powers even as he drained the Robeast's poison from her, the man said nothing about it. And Kate seemed to like him fine. She liked his hair, especially, and he had sometimes been caught with his face right up against hers, her tiny fists pulling on his not-regulation dark hair, trying to drag it into her mouth. Allura had seen him more than once, and laughed out loud, and then gotten this look on her face like she was going to cry, and it made him feel like his stomach had dropped out of his body. He could stand anything but her tears.

But as Kate slept, from the gray stone tower of the Castle of Mists he watched Nyle kneel and grip Allura by the shoulders on the beach below him, and was shocked by the fierce wave of possessiveness that rocked him.

Touching her. Allura. Gripping her shoulders, maybe hurting her. What if she was hurting, and he was stuck here, in this tower, with a sleeping baby, and could do nothing about it? Even worse, maybe _not_ hurting her. Maybe she wanted him to…

_Get a grip, Kogane._ Nyle was her teacher. That was all. It probably had something to do with the balls of mist that were swirling around them.

And then the mist balls shattered, and Nyle was almost touching her face with his, brushing back her hair tenderly, reaching out to touch her face, and Keith felt his heart explode with an emotion he did not recognize. _How dare he?_

Kate started crying, which was the only thing that kept him from charging the beach. He scooped her up, shushing her, wondering if she could feel his racing heart. The words _stupid_ and _Allura Blue_ floated up to him through the mist-white air, and his heart exploded again. He _hated_ it that this man had once been betrothed to Allura, and hated it that he didn't know what obligations that placed Allura under _now_, under Arusian law, and hated it even more that he was too afraid to just call up the castle and ask. And most of all, he hated it that this man had a history with her, had shared jokes with her, had played with her, had known her as a little girl, and even had a _nickname_ for her. Allura Blue. It was so damn cute, and it was all Nyle's.

And he knew, now, about the pepper cheese. Lance had told him during one of his late night check-ins with the castle. He imagined a young Allura, rolling on the floor with a young Kiari, pulling hair, red tangled with gold, kicking and scratching, and all over this man. Boy. Whatever.

And had he just called her _stupid_? Why hadn't Allura punched him? He had certainly taught her how… unless… she didn't want to…

"I'll take her now," the man himself said from the arched entrance to the tower, his approach as silent as the mist itself. If Nyle had been a soldier of Doom, Keith would be dead now, and so would tiny, and suddenly quiet, Kate. Allura sat alone on the beach below them, staring at the waves.

"Good lesson?" Keith choked out as he handed Kate off to her father.

"Best yet," Nyle assured him, a little smugly, Keith thought. "She's going to be quite formidable. But by the gods, it's tiring." Nyle yawned hugely as he snuggled his daughter to his chest, purple shadows vivid under his blue eyes. It was hard, Keith thought, to be mad at a man who had just lost his wife and was struggling to raise his daughter alone. Especially when that man was as easy going as Nyle. Keith was familiar with losing loved ones, as was everyone else on the planet. Besides, Keith genuinely liked the Water Mage, and was grateful beyond words that he was helping Allura, that he could stop the burning in her mind. He took a deep breath as he felt his calm being restored.

And felt it shatter again as Nyle said, "Allura will be wanting an early bath. I'm going to meet her in her bathing room, to heat her water, of course. After that, well," Keith could have sworn the man looked smug. "I doubt you'll see me until morning. Kate doesn't sleep through the night yet, you know, so… help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen. Oh, and have a good night," he added, almost as an afterthought. Keith was too enraged to do anything but think the words _bathing room_ and _meet her_. He didn't notice as Nyle melted quietly from the room. Instead, he looked for Allura down on the beach, but he didn't see her. He stormed off to his rooms, which adjoined hers, for security measures, of course, in the grip of the familiar rage he kept thinking he had conquered forever, but kept rearing its ugly head. _Good thing he's not warming my bath water_, Keith thought. _I might drown him in it. And I think I'm going to need a cold one, anyway…_

VVVVV

Nyle Lochlan, last Water Mage on planet Arus, smiled to himself as he set the princess's bath water to almost boiling. A light sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead, and Kate looked at him quizzically. She got that look, sometimes, when she was in the direct presence of the mind magic that ran through her blood. He had wondered if, because Cat had not been of noble blood, their daughter would not have the power. Kate was showing signs to the contrary already, however. But then again, maybe it was just gas. It was hard to tell, with babies.

It took more energy to heat water from this distance, but there was no way he wanted to run into Commander Keith Kogane after the way he had just baited him. He knew the depth of Keith's feelings for Allura, and hers for him, and he knew the feelings he had just provoked in both of them. He knew the commander was a trained killer, and he knew Allura was bare inches from losing her nerve. _No_, he thought. _It's a good night to settle in with my daughter, a good book, some Rhesian wine, and stay the hell out of the way_.

VVVVV

Princess Allura looked longingly at the decorative bottle that held Rhesian wine. Like everything else here, it was beautiful, but decaying; the glass was a peculiar iridescent blue that she had never seen anywhere but the Castle of Mists. It was the exact shade of the ocean surrounding them, on one of those rare bright days when the mists cleared and the waters teased her by showing, briefly, their turquoise and blue-green colors. But the bottle was also decorated with a fine silver netting that had seen better days, fraying around the edges and a bit tarnished. The wine itself, Allura knew from guilty experience, was light in color and very bright, like liquid diamonds, but it was heavy in flavor and viscosity, more like a red wine that tasted like crushed flowers and had been bleached by the sun. She frowned at it. It was the easy way out, and she knew it. And what would be his reaction if she went to him, despite his misgivings and gods-blasted sense of honor, smelling of wine? He'd tell her no, but gently, reasonably, and send her away. She stood up straighter, princess-like, in spite of herself. Tonight she was having none of that. Tonight, there would be no more waiting.

She checked to see that the basket she had grabbed from the kitchen was where she had left it. She knew he had gone straight to his rooms before she returned from the beach, and had likely not eaten. _How many times has he brought me a plate from the kitchen, when I worked through dinner, or was so exhausted from P.T. I couldn't drag myself to the table_? she wondered. So she had stuffed some of Nyle's phenomenally delicious bread into a basket along with a tin of some kind of spreadable cheese and some dark imported chocolate. The Lochlan clan did not eat flesh, and fresh foods simply wouldn't grow on the rocky, mist-shrouded island, but there were plenty of other kinds of food, much of it quite good, even if it was canned or vacuum- sealed, and the bread alone was enough to live on. If Nanny ever tasted it, she would swoop down and chain Nyle to the ovens in the kitchen of the Castle of Lions, even if he was technically a Duke.

She stepped into her bath with a sigh of gratitude. Nyle had made it boiling hot for her, just as she liked it, and she scrubbed herself with rose-scented soap quickly. She was afraid if she soaked too long, she would lose her nerve. And she _was_ nervous. Her hands shook as she held the soap and her breathing was shallow. The enormity of what she was about to do was beginning to sink in, and she thought longingly of the wine. _Maybe I'll just add it to the basket, just in case_, she thought, dunking her hair quickly in the rose-scented water. She shook as she stepped from the bath and toweled herself dry, so roughly her skin turned slightly red.

_Dear goddess, what am I doing?_ she half-thought, half-prayed as she slipped a rough woven cotton nightgown over her head. Its long bell sleeves covered her wrists, and its hem brushed her knees. It was not what she would have chosen for… for her first… she blushed. But she liked the texture, and it was all she had that was clean, and it was white. White. The color of purity. Her breathing quickened, but not in a good way. _Dear goddess, what am I doing?_

_You are going to walk in there and offer food to the man you love. You are going to offer him half a loaf of bread, and take the other half for yourself, in a ritual as old as time. That is all, Princess. And what comes, will come. You both have more important things to do than waste time fighting fate._

Allura shivered. It was a bit too detailed an answer to have come from her own head. Keith might not believe in prayer, but she did, and she knew better than to fight fate _or_ direct answers to prayers. And she could certainly feed him. That, at least, she could do without losing her nerve. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her basket and pushed through the door connecting her room to his, forgetting the wine as she went.

VVVVV

Keith had shoved all the heavy furniture in the room against the walls, leaving a large clear space in the middle. He was halfway through his Tai Chi routine when he felt her standing just beyond the threshold of his door. It was unlike him to end his evening with Tai Chi practice. He was usually so exhausted from fighting the forces of Planet Doom or from patrols or conference meetings or taking the Lions for one last run or checking on _her_ that he collapsed into sleep whenever he could get it. But not tonight. Tonight, he felt unsettled, like the space around him crackled with lightening-infused air. Her presence did not help. He wanted to continue in his movements, despite the fact that she was standing there, because he desperately needed to _calm down_ after his encounter with Nyle, after what he saw on the beach between them, but he couldn't.

He stood, with his back to her, clad only in loose sweatpants. She wished he would continue in his movements; his sinuous muscles seemed to take on a life of their own. She loved them, not just because he was the first man who had ever let her look closely at his body, standing still as she stared, even though she could tell it made her uncomfortable. That had been so long ago, it seemed… She felt incredibly safe with him, watching him with his head down, his shoulders moving slightly as he panted. "Keith," she said, her voice wavering slightly as she noticed all the heavy furniture he had moved. _Bread_, she thought. _I'm only here to offer him bread_… "Is this a bad time?"

He didn't move, his breathing heavy, but not with exertion. Tai Chi was a very gentle exercise, centered more in the mind than the body. His nerves were rather frayed, and he was trying to get himself under control, both from the interruption, and from some other unsettling emotion he could not yet name. She smelled like cotton and bread, _his_ bread, but she had come to share it with him, and he _was_ hungry, so he turned to thank her, to take it from her, and he saw what she was wearing.

She had obviously just stepped from the bath. She was wearing a nightgown of rough, loosely woven cotton, and as a consequence, it was quite…sheer. He would have thought it too big for her, but it clung to her entire body in ways that made his pupils dilate. That was when he caught her scent, and something primal was unleashed within him. She smelled like roses. That was wrong. Allura, _his_ Allura, smelled like lilies. Roses were _his_ smell, the smell of _his_ soap, and while some part of him knew that just meant she probably had rose scented soap stocked in her bathroom, the other part of him, the primal part that refused, tonight, to be tamed even by cold baths and moving heavy furniture and Tai Chi, roared within him.

"Are you hungry?" she asked innocently, holding half the loaf of bread out to him. She was so maddeningly, intoxicatingly innocent. It was part of the problem. Did she even _know_ what she was doing to him in her nearly see-through, form-fitting cotton nightgown? Had she walked down to the kitchen in it, to get this bread? Had _he_ seen her in it? Had _he _seen the way it clung to her thighs, to her hips, the sides of her breasts? He grasped the bread, half of him powerless to do anything else, the other half screaming a primal _Mine! She is mine, now and forever…_

For once in his life, for perhaps the first time, the primal part won out.

"Yes," he exhaled, a long, drawn out sibilant sound, _like a snake_, he thought, _the snake in the garden_… "I'm very hungry…" and he pulled her to him, her damp, cotton-clad form fitting against his tightly, and he took her bread from her, tossing it, with his, back into the basket where she had set it by the door. "But I'd rather eat it later…" he whispered, his lips suddenly touching hers, his eyes so dark his pupils appeared almost black, and she shook in his arms, and he understood, then, that she wanted this too, that she was scared, but she trusted him, and he felt awed by this beautiful woman in his arms who had been given to him to love, to protect, and tonight, to calm and to claim.

"Sshh," he whispered, drawing her closer, resting his head on her damp hair and planting a kiss there. "Is it time, Allura? Are you ready for this?"

She could only nod into his chest, her arms wrapped around him, her hands digging tightly into his sides.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, cradling her to him.

"Yes," she whispered, looking at him finally, and he did not see the kind of fear he was worried about there. "But only that you would say no, and send me away again."

"This may change things… _will_ change things…"

"Stupid things… outdated things," she hissed. "Here on this island, there is no one to know but us, and one sad man who would give anything to have even one second of what we have a chance of having, because he had it, and lost it, and he knows its value, and _I will not let our fate be his_," she said, vehement, and shut him up the best way she knew how.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him fiercely. Her fingers twined in his black hair, pulling him down to her, and she was not gentle, she was not shy. She pressed her mouth firmly against his, startled and thrilled by the rough texture of his lips against her soft ones, and she wondered how his lips would feel across her body, and she thought about his calloused hands, moving across her, and shivered…

"Yes," he whispered again, gathering her up in his arms, her damp cotton nightgown the thinnest of barriers between their skin, ready to carry her to the bed when he realized he had shoved it into a corner behind a dresser and a chair. "Damn," he said softly, still holding her while she giggled at him. "_Lovers are never at their best when it matters_," he quoted, holding his near-naked princess close to him.

"Who said that?" she asked, holding on to his neck for dear life.

"I'll be damned if I can remember right now," he said, and sank down to the floor with her in front of the fireplace. He placed her carefully in front of it and knelt beside her. She lay still, her eyes luminous, as he traced her body first with his eyes and then lightly with his hands. He carefully arranged her arms over her head and rolled her on one side towards him, her back to the fire. "This should do nicely," he whispered as he stretched himself out in front of her. "Between me and the fire, you should be plenty warm," and he leaned in to kiss her, capturing her hands with one of his own, pinning them above her head gently.

Her eyes were suddenly heavy as she looked at him, the flickering firelight highlighting all his chiseled features: his jaw, his square shoulders, his broad chest… she arched herself impatiently, trapped in one single, powerful hand, as rough and callused as she knew it would be. She felt a liquid fire at the core of her that she hadn't ever felt before, and she whimpered, straining towards him.

"Ssshh," he whispered against her lips. "Patience. We have all night… and we've waited so long…" He drew back, gazing at her body through the cotton. "I want to look at you," he said, "and this damp, rough thing is in the way. Tell me, Princess. Are you awfully attached to it?"

Mutely she shook her head no, fascinating by the way the muscles of his abdomen flowed smoothly downward into the waistband of his loose pants. His chest was dusted with fine dark hair that trailed downward, and she wanted to pull on the waistband, to see where it led, what he looked like…

"I'm going to tear it off you, then," he said carefully, not wanting to frighten her. He reached out with his free hand and worked the loosely woven fibers apart at her neck until he could get a finger through, and, still holding her arms with one hand, he tore through her nightgown until it hung open to her waist. In the firelight, her skin gleamed pure, rosy gold.

He flipped her on her back and straddled her hips in one fluid motion, leaving her completely exposed in the firelight. She found herself with her hands released, but she still couldn't move very much, because he was sitting on her. He looked like a dark angel, his wild black hair like a halo around him, his face cast half in shadow by the flames. Her hands, finally free, roamed up and down the tightly strained muscles of his chest and abdomen. At her touch, he hissed and arched his back, and when he looked back down at her, golden in the firelight, his eyes were heavy, molten fire. "Allura," he said, his voice strangled and hoarse as he reached for her, his calloused hands moving over her.

_His hands…so rough…a warrior's hands… my warrior…_ He looked at her in shock.

_Fire, fire inside me… didn't know… _ she was thinking.

He was hearing her, some part of him realized dimly. The barriers were down. The barriers between him and the world for so long were down, now, and he could hear her, and she him…_That it could be like this_… he finished for her raggedly, thinking the same thing.

She did not seem surprised to hear him again, after so long. She was pretty much beyond coherent thought, and he was there, with her. _Keith_, she begged. _Need…_ And her eyes bore into hers, because he was her first, and she did not know what she needed, not exactly.

But he did, and it would be enough.

_Fire_, he tried to explain, engrossed in the way her hair spread out around her, catching the reds and pinks and golds of the firelight. _We must kindle, before we burn, love…_ and leaned down to claim her mouth with his, shifting himself so that he no longer straddled her, supporting his weight with his arms, leaving only his mouth free as he tasted her petal-soft skin, inhaled its scent…

Allura wrapped her ankles around his and gripped his shoulders, pulling herself up against him._ Please. Keith._ She lay underneath his hands and his gaze, perfectly still and trusting, and he felt rocked by a tidal wave of possessiveness and desire that threatened to sweep away all sense of self, all sense of restraint. _Mine_, he thought. _Mine and none other… _and he felt her wordless agreement, her desire to belong to him completely as they twined themselves together, one love, one heart, one soul.

VVVVV

They lay against each other for a while in the firelight, entwined in each other's arms. She reached her hands to his face, capturing him for another long, deep kiss, before he rolled to one side, watching her with one arm propping him up, the other resting on her stomach. He was smiling, deeply content, and humbled at the enormity of what they had just done, but he watched her anxiously for any sign of remorse or sadness. She merely covered his hand on her stomach with one of her own and stretched languidly, her toes curling up as she arched her body, and then relaxed. She was smiling, looking at him with suspiciously wet eyes.

"Feel ok?' he asked her, a bit anxiously.

She shook her head, incredulous. "I don't know whether to laugh at you or tickle you to death," she said, rolling on her side to face him. "No, I do not feel 'ok.' I feel wonderful; I feel tingly, and…and a little sore…and glowing…" she rolled into him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she did so. "Do I look tingly? Do I glow? Do I look different?" she demanded.

He smiled into her hair, content. "You always glow. Now, the tingly part… I'm not sure what 'tingly' looks like…" she elbowed him in the ribs. _Seriously, though, Allura. Regrets?_

_Only that it took so long_, she shot back. _And that you chose the worst possible time to redecorate…_

He laughed and squeezed her tightly against him. She was _his_. He was never going to let her go.

"That will be hard to do, since your bed is lost in here somewhere, and I don't want to sleep on the floor," she whispered gently into his chest. "Unless you want to sleep with me…" she added shyly, almost inaudibly. She was tracing her fingers across his chest, playing with the light dusting of curling dark hair she found there, when, as if sensing her shyness, he pulled her chin up so that she had no choice but to look him full in the face.

"Don't you _dare_ feel embarrassed, or shy, or ashamed," he pleaded. "I love you. If anyone else ever so much as looks at you in a way I don't like, I'm going to kill them," he promised her solemnly.

"Death threats are so romantic," she teased. He scooped her up, carrying her across the threshold into her room and into her bed. He pulled her tightly to him and then pulled the blankets around them, no other barrier between them but their skin.

"You've been hanging around Lance too much," he said, snuggling into her hair.

"Yes," she said, thinking of their absent friend while she snuggled in Keith's arms. "I keep hearing he's a bad influence…"

"Undoubtedly," Keith whispered back, thinking of him too, before turning to the woman in his arms and crushing her to him tightly.

_I love you, Allura._

_I love you too._

_No regrets?_

_No! And stop asking me that! _

A few minutes later, he was smiling. The beautiful, bewitching Princess of Arus, the woman he would kill for, still snored. And she was his, all his.

VVVVV

In the Castle of Lions, Lance McClain sat bolt upright in bed. He was soaked with sweat and his skin was burning hot, exactly as if he had been in the grips of some kind of fever dream, but he remembered no dream, none at all, and he was utterly confused as to what was wrong. He had never felt this way in his life. He was stumbling towards the bathroom, intending to douse his face with cold water and maybe go seek out Dr. Gorma, when an intense wave of sexual desire and need came literally from nowhere, rocking him to his knees. He would have fallen over on his face had he not been standing in the doorway of his bathroom where he could grab the doorframe. _What the hell is wrong with me_? he wondered, as yet another, stronger wave of desire and this time, pleasure, washed over him.

_Oh shit_, he thought, comprehension dawning. _Oh, hell no. _He pitched sideways on the floor as wave after wave of sensations that were not his own washed over him. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. _Damn this bond_. He had fought the good fight. He had done the right thing. He had given her up, and would live with the pain of it forever. But most of all, he wanted this to not be happening to him. And he was grotesquely enjoying himself. _How can I not?_ he thought against gritted teeth, writhing on the bathroom floor. _At least there are no images. Thank God for small favors…_

"Easy, Fireheart," said a concerned voice from his doorway. "It's a good thing I know the shape of your thoughts enough that I could feel your pain." She was beside him in seconds, her hand on his forehead as he writhed.

"Make it stop, please God, make it stop," he begged, looking into her concerned green eyes with wild blue ones. "The blocks…they're down…I can feel it, feel them…"

She sighed. "It's all in the shielding," she said, putting her hand on his forehead. "Someone has been unforgivably derelict this night… possibly me…has this happened before?"

He felt his head begin to fill with something like cotton as he shook his head no, and as she touched him, felt his thoughts, she gasped at the force of them. Before she could finish shielding him completely, another wave of pleasure and desire hit them both, at the same time, and Kiari gasped as if she had been punched in the stomach. She looked at him, shocked, comprehension dawning as yet another wave hit them.

_They're getting stronger_, Lance thought desperately.

"Let me finish the shielding," Kiari said, her breathing heavy, her eyes glazed, and as she reached for his forehead, her other hand grasped the old Academy T-shirt he invariably wore for pajamas and pulled him right up against her. He noticed that she was wearing a thin silk gown of some kind. Panting heavily, he grabbed her right there in his bathroom floor, scooping her up against him as need coursed through them both. He could feel her trembling with it.

"To hell with the shielding," she said, breathing heavily, and reached for him as he threw her down on his bed.

"Is Saran going to kill me for this?" he asked as he tried to kiss her and rip off his T-shirt at the same time.

"Only if he finds out about it," she whispered, their hands switching so that his T-shirt came off in her hands, and her silk gown split open in his.

He was on top of her, kissing her, lost in her red hair. "He'll find some other reason…only a matter of time…never use dirty socks as a gag…"

She flipped somehow, so that her piercing green eyes bored into his blue ones from above him. "You talk too much, _Lancelot_ McClain," she said, stopping his mouth with hers, pleasure and need and desire and desperation that was not entirely theirs coursing through them.

_Oh shit_, he thought. _She found it out_… And it was the last complete, coherent thought either one of them had for a very long time.


	5. Chapter 5: What Sleeps Beneath

Author's note: Thanks to all of you for your feedback on _both_ versions of chapter four. It was certainly fun to read what you guys thought. Sorry so long to post with this. Hopefully chapter six will be here much faster. Oh, warning time: The following chapter contains an adult situation, containing nudity, a suggestive adult situation or two, and curse words. I would rate it a strong PG-13. There. You are warned.

Playlist: Great Northern's new album, forget what it's called.

And, as always, the usual disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Five:

What Sleeps Beneath

Prince Lotor leaned back in the overstuffed armchair. He made a gesture to one of the slave girls standing at attention along the walls of the conference room to refill his glass of wine. When she approached hesitantly and lowered the cut crystal decanter with arms shaking slightly from fear, he grabbed her wrist and twisted it. "Don't spill a drop," he cautioned, a mild warning coming from the Crown Prince of Planet Doom. She curtsied, making not even one sign of pain, and proceeded to refill his glass carefully, without spilling a drop. Spilling wine here, today, might be a killing offense. Lotor sat in the small conference room off to the side of his father's throne room surrounded by important dossiers and files. They had taken weeks to compile, and he would not have even one page marred by wine. He smiled and took another deep drink from his goblet. His father would be here soon, and he could explain the plans he had spent the last several weeks putting together.

The fact that they were meeting here, in the small conference room rather than the throne room itself, was an excellent sign. Zarkon usually conducted only serious business here, admittedly the kind that Lotor found incredibly boring. Zarkon met with members of trade commissions, union representatives, his intelligence corps, and other functionaries of the Drule Empire here. It was where the so-called "real" business of the realm took the place, the kind that ensured the distribution of food, the collection of taxes, the buildings of roads, and the million other details it took to run an empire as vast as his father's. He sighed. He did not relish that aspect of being ruler some day. It was one small, perhaps the only, reason why he was glad that day was not yet here.

_Still_, he thought, motioning the girl forward again, who was careful to pour, and look, steady as she refilled his glass_, meeting here means he's taking me seriously_. _At least he's not hounding me in his throne room full of those jackals he calls a court._ Lotor smiled and grabbed the slave girl in a different way before she could leave the table, hooking one hand around her bare thigh and running his hand up and down. She betrayed no shock or fear. He liked this one. Perhaps he would seek her out later. After the meeting with his father, of course. After he laid his carefully constructed plans for the fall of Planet Arus, and indeed, for most of the Alliance, in Zarkon's lap.

Lotor was surprised to see Haggar walk quietly in behind his father. The witch had kept almost exclusively to her own part of the castle since the defeats of her last two Robeasts. The magic she had poured into them had cost her dearly, and then, to have them defeated, had left her drained and unable to strengthen any more of her Robeasts with dark magic. At least, for a while, she claimed. Lotor narrowed his eyes. He wondered if her battle with Allura, when she had encountered the Sword of Altaire head-on, had not robbed her of her magic, and thus her usefulness entirely. But if that was so, then his father had yet to catch on.

"Impressive," his father chortled when he finished looking at the dossiers. "It's refreshing to see that parts of Earth, at least, remain the cesspools of corruption they have always been. It's such a lovely planet, where everything, and sometimes everyone, can be bought and sold." Zarkon motioned to the same slave girl to fill his glass. Her face was an emotionless mask as she did so. _Yes, I like this one. Perhaps I can force her to drop that tight control later,_ Lotor thought.

Zarkon took a drink. "Or sold out," he amended, looking at one dossier in particular. "What do we know about her, and why is she so important?"

Lotor leaned forward and punched up several pictures on the data screens fixed in front of each seat at the table. They showed a young woman, a girl, really, with straight reddish-brown hair and serious blue eyes. In every picture black clad assault guards armed to the teeth accompanied her. "Lady Charlotte Anne Grayson-McClain. Minor Earth nobility, but most importantly for our purposes, she is the acting director of McClain Aeronautics and Industrials. I assume I do not need to explain who they are, Father?"

Zarkon merely grunted. "Seems a bit young," he growled.

"Almost seventeen, my lord," purred Haggar. "Many of the rulers of our own Empire, throughout history, have been that age when taking the throne. Her father died from a heart attack caused by excessive drinking, my lord, and her mother is essentially incapacitated. She has become addicted to a vast cocktail of painkillers, anti-depressants, catatonics… all kinds of things, since her only son was disinherited many years ago, and disappeared," Haggar interrupted, glowering at Lotor. "The daughter runs the company in the mother's name."

Lotor stamped down on his irritation, hard. "Silence, witch! If you have been interfering in my plan in any way, if it falls through in any way due to your interference, I swear I will hang you by the skin of that cat you love so much." Coba hissed from the folds of Haggar's robes.

Zarkon looked bored.

Lotor visibly struggled to bring his temper under control. It would not do to have an outburst. His plans, carefully executed, were sure to work…

"This girl," he said, tapping one particular image of her, enlarging it, "holds the key to the downfall of the Castle of Lions. It will cripple their fledgling air squadrons…" The image showed the girl at her father's funeral, dressed all in black, a color that did not suit her features. It made her look…washed out. _I would dress her in…well, not much, really, but it would be blue, and deep, deep burgundy, maybe even scarlet, and gold_… He smiled. He had plans for this girl, who was so very, very important. "Capturing her would also cripple McClain Aeronautics, who, as we all know, supplies over half the Alliance, even Galaxy Garrison itself, with weapons, fighters… everything that has contributed to our inability to push even deeper into the Near Galaxy." He had his father's full attention now. "We could demand ransom, or simply hold her here, of course, but the main thing is the chaos it would throw the company, and thus, its buyers, into." He barred his pointed teeth as he laid out his trump card. "Not only that, but she is the key to fracturing the Voltron Force itself."

"How?" Zarkon asked tersely.

"Why, the disinherited older son, of course," Lotor said, and then punched up an image of the Red Lion pilot, an older one, taken in the days when Lance had been younger and had just joined the Garrison, before he had begun his steep slide into trouble. Next to it he placed an image of Charlotte McClain. "Do you see?" he asked, triumphant. "He managed, stupidly, I think, to keep the last name. The same features, hair, eyes… but for the age difference, they could be twins."

"You are sure of this?' Zarkon asked, his voice gone deadly soft and thoughtful.

"Oh, yes. It took a tremendous amount of intelligence gathering, bribery, and even outright torture in a case or two. The McClain family hides its secrets better than most planetary governments. But it is true, and it explains much. We have been unsuccessful in planting operatives within the Castle of Lions so far. But Lady Charlotte's guards…" Lotor swilled his wine. "They are from Earth. And as you, my illustrious father, pointed out yourself, there is nothing, and no one, who cannot be bought, from Earth. In fact," Lotor tossed four dossiers to his father. "We already have some strong candidates. _Very_ strong."

"So what do you need from me?" Zarkon said, gesturing for more wine.

"Total control of this project. Unless I ask for something, I need to be able to do this without interference." Zarkon nodded. "And I need a distraction. The Voltron Force is split right now. It seems the princess was somewhat damaged by your attacks, witch. She and… that escaped slave… are away from the castle," he said, turning to the Haggar. "I need you to create a Robeast. But not your average Robeast. I need something from Arus itself, something from the oceans of Arus, something that can defy even the Isle of Mists."

Haggar hissed. "That place is half myth itself."

"Are you saying it is beyond your powers?" Lotor asked quietly, his eyes blazing.

"Of course not."

Zarkon, watching the exchange, laughed out loud. "And how much of this has to do with your desire to capture a certain Arusian princess, hmmm?"

Lotor ignored the taunt. His plans to capture the princess were none of his father's business, and this fresh young girl would be a nice bonus. "It will be easy to take the girl, especially having help from the very guards who are supposed to be protecting her." He clutched the stem of his goblet so hard that it snapped in his hands like a twig. "Can you _imagine_ the rage and pain this will cause the Red Lion pilot? He will be unstable beyond belief. It will either bring him here directly, in which case we'll capture him and split the Force… or perhaps we can offer a hostage exchange for someone more important, say, the Black Lion pilot, or we can demand weapons, resources, and fighters of all kinds directly from the company itself… the possibilities are endless."

The images of Charlotte moved across their screens. In one she placed flowers on her father's grave. Not a single tear appeared on her stoic features. In another she blew out the candles on a birthday cake, sixteen of them. Her hair was styled simply and gathered back with a circlet, but her dress sparkled with purple gems and hugged her supple figure. Her smile did not reach her eyes.

Zarkon was silent for a moment longer before nodding at his son. "It is a deeply laid and ambitious plan, my son, one worthy of my heir. Let us see if you can pull it off."

As Zarkon swept out of the conference room with Haggar in tow, Lotor looked for the servant girl trying to blend in to the curtain behind her. He didn't even bother speaking to her; he merely grabbed her by the same wrist he had twisted earlier and dragged her behind him as he headed to his quarters. She did not fight him. She knew that would only make it worse.

VVVVV

They lay in a tangled heap of blankets, arms, legs, clothing, and hair of varying hues of red. Neither one of them looked at each other. Kiari, curled in on herself as she nestled under Lance's arm, one leg thrown across his, had her eyes fixed somewhere very far off, somewhere that was not in the bed where they lay. Lance was sprawled on his back, looking at the ceiling, one arm around the red-haired woman who had come to him, so innocently, to help him in his pain last night, and who had somehow wound up here, caught up in events neither one of them could control, naked in his bed.

They were both trying to decide how they felt about that.

"Lance," she began, raising her head to meet his eyes.

"Kia," he said at the exact same time, meeting her green eyes with his blue ones. They laughed, and she ducked her head back into his side. "Can I call you that? Is that wrong?" he asked anxiously. There was so much he didn't know about her culture. Like whether or not her surrogate father and bodyguard was going to crash in on them any moment now, and demand Lance's head on a platter….

She looked back at him. "You really do worry too much, Lance." Then she frowned and corrected herself. "No, rather it is that you worry too much about the wrong things and not enough about the right ones."

"So…is that a yes?"

She smiled slightly, but her eyes were a little sad, he thought. "Only you can answer that question," she said enigmatically, in that maddening way that she had. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at his naked body with interest. "You are pale," she remarked. "And you have many scars," she said, tracing one lightly with her fingers. He bit down on the inside of his mouth. Did she know what she was doing to him? Last night was a blur, a pleasant one, but still a blur, and he didn't know how much… experience… she had, with men. She had been willing enough, and eager, and responsive… but he was scared to death he had just deflowered a desert princess and that the consequences would be dire. More importantly, he was scared to death that he had just screwed up something that had been growing into a very important relationship. One he had come to rely on, with someone who understood, and accepted, the complex ties that bound him. How important that relationship was he had not known until he became afraid of losing it.

"This looks like a blaster burn, a nasty one, " she said, moving her hand down his side. "But this one, this looks like a knife… a deep cut… and it is very old…tell me, Lance McClain, how old were you when you got this?"

He took a deep breath. What did he have to lose now? "Twelve. It's about ten years old." She said nothing, merely laid her head across his chest and continued stroking the scar. "My father gave it to me." She looked at him, saying nothing, continuing her gentle stroking. "I have a lot of scars." It was true, and she was stroking all of them, her fingers roaming across him, making him bite his tongue to hang on to his control, her fingers stoking a fire within him that was barely concealed by the tangled blankets across his hips.

She smiled as if she guessed what she was doing to him, but she seemed hesitant, shy, even curious, and completely different than the woman he had encountered last night. "I have a lot of scars, too, you know," she said, and she sat up in bed, the blankets and the remnants of her silk nightgown falling aside as she sat up, naked to the waist. His breathing got a little more ragged. She slipped her hands over her breasts, pressing up slightly until he could see a long slash across the pale skin underneath. The scar was deep and old. The breath left his lungs, desire replaced by fear and…anger?

"How?" he choked out, afraid of the answer. "When?"

"Ten years ago. I was twelve. I was in the hold of one of Zarkon's slave ships after he attacked this planet, bound for the harems. My mother had been able to hide me for several days, but one day, a guard cornered me and I fought him. He used his sword to try to cut off my clothing. It was some kind of game for him, I think." Her face was a strange mixture of vulnerability and steel. "He did a terrible job, too, as you can see." She pointed to a scar across her abdomen and one on her shoulder. "That was when Saran found me, thank the goddess, and it turned into a different kind of game, a deadly one, between the two of them." She looked down at him solemnly. "So that is another thing we have in common. Lots of scars."

He shook his head, not sure what to say. He had never been so consistently at a loss for words with anyone as he was with this woman, and now there was this other thing between them, this intimacy that had perhaps come upon them too soon, and if it was anyone's fault, it was his. She had only been trying to help him. _That damn bond with Keith and Allura_…_and damn them, too…_ "I'm sorry," he choked out, afraid to move.

"I am not," she said. Her skin was pale where it was not exposed to the desert sun. The rest of her was a beautiful burnished gold… "It makes us who we are." She pulled a blanket over herself and sat cross-legged, facing him. "I am not sure what happened last night, exactly, but I have an idea. If you were feeling such powerful…emotions, then the bond between the three of you has been unblocked." Her face crumpled, and she looked as if she was going to cry. Panic, raw and powerful, bloomed within him. This was the worst possible scenario, that she was full of regret, that he had screwed up, again, and forced her into a situation she would not otherwise have wanted…"Lance," she all but whispered. "Please forgive me. I should have anticipated something like this. I should have shielded you. I know how hard it has been to let her go, even as you remain connected to the both of them. I cannot imagine the pain, emotionally, you must be in right now, and I wish I could have done more to comfort you, to protect you…"

He stared at her, thunderstruck. _She_ was sorry? _She _should have protected _him_? He felt as if his world was suddenly upside down. He sat up, quick as lightening, and grabbed her hands. 'Don't feel that way. I never want you to feel that way. That you regret this, that you regret _me_, is the worst thing I can think of right now. I don't want that between us." He released her to run a hand through his already wild hair, and right at that moment he looked uncharacteristically vulnerable. "_I _am sorry. I am so sorry it happened this way. So sudden. So soon. All you did was come to help me, and then…I don't even know what it means or how you feel about it." He withdrew from her, almost cowering against his pillows, his arms around his chest, afraid of her answer.

She turned her head slightly, unable to face him, and blushed as red as her hair while she held the blanket between them. "It is not a thing we can go back from. Nor would I want to. It's just… I, uh… I have never…"

Realization hit Lance like a ton of bricks. "Oh," he said, and then repeated, stupidly, "_Oh_. Never… with…anyone… Kiari?" he choked out. She was blushing even more now, if such a thing was possible. _What the hell do I say? What the hell do I do?_ he thought, panicked. He looked at her for a minute, blushing underneath her tangled red hair, in _his_ bed, and he closed the distance between them, catching her up against him in a fierce embrace, careful to keep the blanket between them, guessing it would make her feel more comfortable. _Gentle. Very gentle…_

"I know I am getting this backwards, but I would very much like to have more in common with you than scars and other people's passions pushing against us. But you must help me. What does this mean for you and me? I have no idea what your customs are, regarding...relationships...of this nature." He was still holding her gently, as if she was breakable, although he knew she was anything but.

"I think it best not to let anyone know this has happened, Lance," she whispered into his ear. "If I was not Clan Leader, it might be different, but I am who I am..."

Lance fought back crushing disappointment. He should have expected as much. "So, you don't want to see me, then?"

She looked at him, amazed for a moment, and laughed. "No, silly. I mean, yes, I _do_ want to see you. I just meant..." she blushed again, and ducked her head. "Not to let people know we have become..." She gulped. "Lovers."

This was a side of her he had never seen before. She seemed so shy and vulnerable. It made him feel fiercely protective, even though he knew she could take care of herself. She could probably take him in a fight, even. "Lovers." He whispered the word, testing it out. He had never had, or been, a lover. One night stands, short-term girlfriends only. He smiled. "So it's what we would call dating, on Earth? Where we just continue where we were before... you know. Where we just continue getting to know each other?"

She nodded solemnly, as if considering. "Getting to know each other. Yes, that is it exactly. Dinner with Saran and his family, my family, really, and riding horses..."

"Walks and movies and music? Learning about each other's cultures?"

She nodded, and then frowned. "What are movies?"

It was his turn to grin, relaxing back against the pillows, but taking her with him, his arm around her shoulders. "Ahh, I have much to teach you..."

"No doubt," she said, amused. She snuggled in very close against his neck and stroked his chest lightly. "I was wondering, though." His heart started pounding. _Gentle, McClain_, he told himself again. _You were her first. Are her first....Let her make the first..._And he gasped as her fingers moved lower under the blankets, stroking him, making him groan. "Could we please try it again? I would very much like to know what it is like without the bond. I promise to shield us very tightly."

"Uh huh," he said, rolling over until he was propped up above her. He moved one hand underneath the blankets, and this time, she was the one who gasped, who opened her eyes wide as his fingers moved against her intimately, gently... "Strictly for research purposes, of course," he teased.

VVVVV

"I can't believe we got out of an early morning Lion practice _again_," Pidge whispered to Hunk as they trailed behind the group from the palace. The morning sun had not yet turned mercilessly hot, and the young Voltron pilot was enjoying being outdoors at a time when he was usually getting raked over the coals by Keith for the mistakes he, or any one of them, had made in their attack formations, flight patterns… any number of things.

"I'm not complaining," Hunk said, pleased but feeling slightly guilty as he trailed along behind the city planning committee. "It's not like we're skipping it entirely. We're just doing it at a more reasonable hour. It's not like we're out of practice, or anything…"

"Yeah, well, with only three Lions to run, I _am_ starting to worry that we're getting out of practice. It's just like it all mushroomed on us overnight, or something. I mean, what the princess is doing is important, and of course she needs a guard, and _of course_ who else would it be but our commander…" Pidge said.

"Our love-struck commander," Hunk whispered. Pidge elbowed him.

"But now we've got these fighters coming, and air squadrons to train, and Kiari and I are trying to figure out a way to fuse magical shields into the ones we already have, and then see if we can apply those to Charlotte's fighters, as well, and there's this city to build, and materials to get, and Doom has been real quiet, Hunk…"

"Yeah, that's got me more than a little worried, too."

Pidge sighed. "Lance said that he talked to Keith yesterday, and they expect to head back within the next day or two. They've convinced this water person to come to the castle to continue the princess's training."

"So, business as usual then, I guess," Hunk said, thinking about how much he enjoyed having breakfast _before_ Keith whipped his butt at the crack of dawn…

"I don't know, Hunk. I just don't know," Pidge said, watching the small group in front of them. Charlotte walked lightly beside two elderly gentlemen, listening to them as they described the layout of the city and the types of building materials they thought they would need. Koran walked off to the side, Charlotte's mother on his arm, as she often was, these days, when she was not in Med Center, or being escorted directly to her rooms or the dinner table.

"So Scottish peers are seated in the House of Lords _before_ Irish peers? Yet, you would have preceded your husband in order had you not married, thus combining the titles?" Koran asked, as if the obscure rituals of Earth peerages were the most fascinating things in the world. Pidge did not hear what the woman on his arm said. He was watching her daughter, who looked so much like her brother, but was so very different in personality. Black-clad guards ringed them, as always. Pidge frowned. He did not like having so many guards around her. They were the Voltron Force, or most of it, anyway. They ought to be enough to protect her… plus it made it impossible to ever talk to her alone…he just didn't like it, and he hated it that he couldn't put words to it. The whole situation- Keith and Allura being gone, all the guards around Charlotte and her mother, the way things had been so quiet and had gotten a bit lax- he didn't like any of it, not one bit.

"Hey, they're talking about heavy equipment, the best kinds to bring over to help with the building," Hunk said excitedly. "That's something I've got some insight into. Come on, little buddy," he said, practically dragging Pidge with him. Truthfully, Hunk could care less about heavy building machinery, especially when he had Lions and L-22s to work on, but he knew his friend was feeling down, and knew he would never get up the nerve to talk to her himself. Hunk walked right up to the two elderly men and started chattering away about machinery and about the city plans in general, striding straight through the ring of guards with Pidge at his side.

Charlotte flashed Pidge a grateful look and took a couple of sly steps backwards. "Thank you," she murmured, looking down at the dirt at her feet. She was wearing a light blue summer dress that came to her ankles. It almost matched her eyes. Her reddish brown hair, the exact shade as Lance's, was gathered into a bun, kind of like the way the princess wore her hair sometimes…he remembered that Charlotte had said something about trying to blend in, if she was going to be on Arus for long. She had even talked to Nanny about it, about what was appropriate for someone of her age and station, and the housekeeper had been thrilled to assist the young noblewoman from Earth. In the docking bay, with just him and Hunk and her guards, she wore jeans and T-shirts, just like a normal girl from Earth.

"Uh, sure," Pidge said. That seemed to be about the extent of his conversational powers at the moment. Maybe her dress meant she was going to stay a while. "Uh…your mother seems to be doing well," he ventured.

"Seeing Lance again has helped," she said. "And Dr. Gorma has been really helpful, too. He can be tough as nails, and he's been getting her off some of the medications…" Her blue eyes looked into his, strained, and she shrugged helplessly. "Oh, Pidge, let's just call a spade a spade. He's getting her off the _drugs_. 'Medication' is just the genteel word for it. My mother's a drug addict. But Dr. Gorma's been helping, and so has Koran, and Lance. But Lance has to be careful with how much time he spends with her. She gets confused, and then upset…sometimes she thinks he's our father."

Pidge felt bad for her, but he was also glad that she could talk to him. They had been spending more and more time together, with Hunk and Kiari too, trying to figure out the shielding problems that had allowed Lotor to get into the castle twice and caused two of her L-22 fighters to self-destruct rather than be captured. He had never had many close friends his age, especially girls, and he was glad she was opening up to him, even if it was about sad stuff.

"I've been reading about some of your mother's medications…drugs…whatever you want to call them, Charlotte. About her condition. It's pretty interesting stuff." She looked at him, amazed.

"You actually did _research_? About my mother? Why, Pidge? You've got so much else to worry about…"

"Well, it seemed like it was bothering you." He adjusted his glasses and tried to play it off as a joke, even though it wasn't. Vivienne was Lance's mother, too, and he knew the situation pained his teammate as well. "The good news is that the withdrawal is usually the worst right at first. The bad news is that the withdrawal is usually worst right at first." He smiled crookedly. "So however bad it is, it's supposed to get better. Eventually. I've got the data saved, I can upload it for you…" Her eyes looked suddenly lost and tired. "Charlotte? Is there something you're not telling me? I mean, you can, if you want…" he trailed off lamely.

She shook her head. "Thank you, Pidge, for looking that stuff up. I _would_ like to look at it, actually. Dr. Gorma's been saying roughly the same thing, but I always like to read things for myself, when I can."

"No problem, Charlotte."

She wrung her hands. "The thing is, it's been pretty bad. Lately. Especially at night."

"I thought you looked pretty sleep deprived these last few days."

"I've thought about just having her sent to Med Center semi-permanently, or even someplace more… secure, some kind of facility off planet, like Planet Ebb, but I just don't want to do that. And I don't want to put anything else on my brother's plate. We McClains handle things, handle our own problems. It's so stupid." Pidge nodded. He knew Lance had the same way of dealing with things. "Besides," she said fiercely, even smiling a little. "It helps more than you know to be able to come down to the docking bay with you and Hunk and try to figure out how different alloys impact the spacing within a cohesive molecular field, or whether a spherical shape is more destructive than the more traditional stacking effect of the original Lorentz principle."

His heart and his stomach did a funny little twist. He loved it when she talked about particle physics. He looked quickly down at his shoes, sure his face was flaming red. "I'm really glad you're here, Charlotte," he said quietly. "Nobody else likes to talk to me about that stuff."

"Me too, Pidge," she said. Her comm. unit beeped. "Oh, bloody _hell_," she said, sounding like an exact copy of her brother. "It's drug time again." Vivienne had released Koran's arm and was standing very still, her arms wrapped around herself.

"It's also lunch time," Pidge said, trying to cheer her up. "Why don't we see if we can get Koran to walk with your mother and us to the castle, and we can meet up for lunch?"

"Good plan," she said, staring at her mother. At that moment, she did_ not_ look almost seventeen. She looked ageless.

VVVVV

_He slumbered deeply, as he had for thousands of years. He was aware of himself only as an extension of the ocean floor he slept upon, or as the heart of what had once been a cave but had long since crusted over with tiny hard-shelled ocean dwellers like himself. He slept on and on, through the ages, as Royal Houses rose and fell, as Empires formed in distant galaxies and fell to dust, as wars raged on above the ocean's ceiling and the air-breathing creatures died. He had slumbered almost since the planet was born, and he was so old not even the planet itself remembered him, or any of his kind._

_For there had been others of his kind, once. He remembered...he had once had a mate, long ago, and she had died. She had been injured, and he could do nothing to help her, and the air-breathers would only stick them and stab them if they came near... they had injured her, he remembered, and if he had not given over much of what was once his mind to the deep blank dreaming of the ocean floor, he might have felt hate. Overwhelming hate. Because he had only one mate, and would never take another, as was the way of his kind, and he had lain down in this cave on the ocean's bottom and come as close to death as he could. He had been too grieved, even, to die._

_But he was waking, slowly, after so long a time he had become buried in the crust of the earth. Someone was calling him with the kind of dark magic that had given birth to his kind, so long ago. Someone was waking him, finding his mind, showing him things..._

"_Your mate," it said. The voice. The waking, calling, darkly promising, magic voice. "She lives." And he roared, from his den, and thrashed, and the oceans shook and he felt his mind and his body return to him from the deep dreaming. _

"_Where?" he demanded, uncoiling his great body, his numberless arms, from his cave. His mate. She was all that mattered. She was the only thing powerful enough to wake him, to rouse him from the ocean's floor, for without her, he was the very last of his kind._

"_Here..." the voice promised, showing him an air-dwelling place. "They have her here, inside, where she has nothing to breathe but air...."_

_He roared and shook and thrashed his mighty tail at the heresy. The voice had shown him an island, and a tower, in the colder northern seas, covered with mist, but he would find it. He would crack it open like a shell that had something good to eat inside, and he would no longer be alone. He would find his mate and crush the air-dwellers within who had dared to take her from him. "I will find her, and they will die," he promised the voice that had shown him these wonders._

From her laboratory, looking deep into a dark reflecting pool, Haggar laughed. She had found, and awoken, the Leviathan, and had established some control over what remained of its mind. The Castle of Mists and the people inside stood no chance. She shuffled off to tell Prince Lotor that the first part of his plan was complete.


	6. Chapter 6: Leviathan

Author's note: Some of you may recognize the very first section of this chapter. It's a safer T version of the M rated version I posted a couple of days ago. The rest, however, is new stuff. Thanks to Xia, Mertz, cms, and the rest of gang for all the help and encouragement it took to get me to venture into M rated territory. Took me long enough, didn't it? But now it is time for the plot to thicken, as they say...

Playlist: BellX1, "The Great Defector," and Elvis Costello, "Complicated Shadows."

And all the standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Six:

Leviathan

Keith moved silently back into the princess's bedroom. He had just performed his morning Tai Chi, something he almost never went without, and since his bedroom was now almost bare, it made sense to slip away there. He did not want to wake Allura with his exercises. He wanted to wake Allura himself, and so he had set his internal clock to make sure he was up well before the sunrise, a time he knew the princess almost always slept through. She was sleeping, still, when he crept up beside her, watching as she lay sprawled out on her back, the blankets twisted around her waist. Her hair spread out around her like a golden halo, and he thought that he never seen a creature so lovely. He could not believe the twists and turns his life had taken to bring him here, to bring him to her. It had all been worth it, every bit of it, all of the pain, the losses, the loneliness, because it had brought him to her. He had not known such beauty and goodness could exist within one person, could exist, at all, in the entire universe.

_Mine_, the deep, primal part of him she frequently called forth whispered. He smiled a little. It was such a contradiction. He had been raised to be an enlightened, modern man, as were most men of Earth these days, and he knew she really belonged to herself. But ever since that first day he had touched her hand, had looked into her eyes in the ruins of the old castle, some part of him he had not known existed had awoken forcefully, had roared like the Lion he piloted that _she_ was his, and he would fight for her, die for her, to keep her, to protect her, to make her smile.

He slid under the tangled blankets, moving slowly, quietly, until he could feel her petal-soft skin against his own. He propped himself on one elbow. _Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty_. "Wake up, my princess. Wake up, my love," he whispered into her ear before claiming her slightly parted lips with his own.

She smiled before she opened her eyes, her senses awash in a variety of competing sensations that she wanted to experience slowly. The first thing she noticed was his scent, his faint smell of oranges and sunshine, and she knew, then, that she was safe in his arms, surrounded by his presence as surely as any force field. In the circle of his arms, she knew everything was right, and good, and she felt like a child again, playing games in the dark under the blankets of her parent's bed, safe and loved.

"Keith," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face against him. "You're still here," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"Of course," he whispered into her hair. His hand traveled across her taut stomach. "Always. I'll always be here." Keith reached out and held her, his eyes bright with strong emotion. She snuggled herself into his side, content to be in the circle of his arms. They said nothing for a long, long while. Allura lay still against him as he stroked her face.

"I never want to leave this island," she said suddenly, her eyes wet.

_Oh no, is she crying_? Keith thought frantically. _Please, not that..._

She elbowed him in the ribs. "I'm _happy_, idiot," she said.

"Oh," was all he could think to say. "That's good, then," he added. "Right?"

She ignored him, picking up on a topic they had both avoided so far. "But we will have to leave it, and soon, Keith," she said, snuggling even more tightly against him.

"I know," he groaned. He rolled over to face her. "Allura, what does this mean? For us? Out there?" He grabbed her hand in his, squeezing it. "You know I'll do anything for you. I'll face anything, I'll do whatever you want, whatever your customs demand. I'll keep it a secret, I'll announce it to the world, I'll..." he locked his eyes with hers, wanting her to know how seriously he meant what he was about to say. "I'll marry you." He smiled crookedly. "If you would even want me, that is. If it were even possible." His face became steel, suddenly. "The only thing I cannot do, will not do, is give you up."

She looked at him, amazed. "Not _want_ you? Not _want_ to marry you? Keith, that's so far from the truth." She rolled onto her back, still holding his hand, eyes staring at a spot on the ceiling. "Are you saying you want to marry _me_?"

He gulped, ashamed of himself. "I wasn't planning this, you know. For this to happen, so I'm not exactly prepared. It's tradition, where I come from, to have a ring to give you...and I have nothing...Allura, you have to know I'm a common soldier, with nothing but..."

She rolled on top of him as quick as lightening, and the small part of his mind that was always a soldier, was always alert to any danger to her, was very impressed with her reflexes. She kissed him, hard, almost angrily. "Shut. Up. Keith Kogane, _shut up_. If I have to hear about me being royalty and you being a commoner one more time I'm going to throw up. All over you, this time, instead of Lance's boots." She tossed her golden hair back behind her shoulders, as regal as he had even seen her. "You hold the Sword of Altaire. My father's sword. You may even have a stronger claim to the throne than I do." He gaped at her. "No one told you that? Of course not. Stupid tradition," she grumbled, rolling off him. She sighed. "I've thought about this over and over. I think the best thing, unfortunately, is to _try_ to keep this a secret. Test the waters, so to speak, when we get home. There's a war going on..."

"What if there's a child?" he whispered, watching carefully for her reaction.

Her face lit up like the sunrise. "There is nothing that would make me happier," she said, her eyes glowing. He felt something release inside of him, some fear he didn't know he'd been carrying, and he grabbed her close.

"It's a bad time, to have a child. With a war going on," he said.

She was still smiling. "Sometimes, they just come when they come."

"So, you have to marry me," he half-stated, half-pleaded.

"I thought we established that."

"So this is what we would call on Earth an engagement."

"A secret one," she cautioned. "For now."

"I should give you _something_," he said, "even if it we have to keep it secret..." He thought a moment, then slipped out of bed, walking silently, with that feline grace he had, to his rooms. The view was... lovely, she thought. "Don't go anywhere..." he called back.

She rolled her eyes. _As if I'd go anywhere...Call the castle maybe, totally naked, tell them, "Hello, this is your princess, and I'm here on the Isle of Mists, and I've been making love to the Commander of the Voltron Force all night long, and I loved every minute of it and I'm not going to stop, in fact, I'm going to give up the throne to do it full time...They'd love that...Well, Lance might laugh...Kiari would, too..._

He stood in the doorway, one hand on his hip, the other hiding something behind his back, his face a mixture of shock and amusement. "You have to know I heard every bit of that, young lady, and I have to say, I am _shocked_ at your language. Where did you learn such language?"

"What language?" she asked, trying to look innocent.

He slid into bed with her again, shaking his head. "He's a terrible influence. Terrible. I'm going to have to have words with him..."

"Present?" she said hopefully, deciding to pretend nothing had happened.

"Since I don't have a ring," he said nervously, and produced his book of poems, the one he had read from at Lake Aeylene. "I carry it everywhere, and now, you can carry it for me. If you'll have it... it's a bit battered, and ragged around the edges, but it's sturdy and dependable, it's been through a lot, and it still hasn't come apart, and it has some wonderful things inside it..."

She had tears in her eyes as she took it from him, flipping through it for a moment, thinking how like this book he really was, that he had just described himself perfectly, before whispering, "Of course. It's wonderful." She clutched it to her breast. "One day we won't have to keep this secret. Maybe even one day soon." She looked down at the worn, and obviously well loved, book, thinking. "But don't you dare think about stopping _this_." She gestured at her bed. "We'll just have to figure out some way to be...discreet."

He smiled. "That could be fun."

"I have this horrible commander who works me like a slave at the crack of dawn every morning, and it would be just like him to give me extra covert ops assignments...'

_Don't tempt me,_ he thought, claiming her mouth for another kiss. _On second thought, consider yourself so assigned. _He rolled over, kissing her fiercely. Again. _Especially night assignments. Perfect time for covert ops training.._.

She grinned up at him. "I like it when you give me orders, _Commander_."

"Good," he said, stripping the sheets off them entirely. _Dear god, we're going to starve to death up here... never make it out..._"Here's one. No more talking." And there wasn't.

VVVVV

_"You're late," she says. She smiles a little. I am always late._

_The sun has crept across the sky, already well past the time when I should have been here, according to the customs of my people. Our people. I couldn't make myself get here any faster, though. "I don't want to say goodbye," I tell her. _

_"Then don't," she says simply. It is one of the things I love...loved...about her, her directness and plain speech. "Think of it as...a bit of a wait, Nyle. That's all it is, really, and I will visit when I can." She smiles at me, at our daughter, who gurgles and moves against me, her bright baby thoughts as formless as the mist that swirls around us, the mist that gives her mother form as we say our goodbyes. It has been seven days. It is time for her to move Beyond. _

_"Kate is a good name," she says, and suddenly she is close, looking down into the carrier that holds the baby close to my heart. Kate likes heartbeats. "She will be beautiful, like you, and powerful, and good," Cat says. She does not mean it as an idle comment, or as a cliché. She has always told me that I am beautiful, but that I care as little for my appearance as a thief does for law. It's true that I don't care about how I look. What does it matter, here on this island where I've spent a good part of my life? I cannot even remember the last time I looked in a mirror. Cat is...was... as plain as her speech, but it was her heart that tied me to her, that made me love her..._

_"I've been baking almost every day," I tell her. "It reminds me of you."_

_"We've had guests."_

_"Yes, thank goodness. I would be wasting a lot of good bread, if there weren't others to eat it. But still, I do not do it for them." I do not even want to blink. I do not want to miss a single second of this time with her. "I can almost make a decent honey roll now."_

_She laughs. Honey rolls were her specialty. She peeks at the baby. "You'll teach her? How to make honey rolls? Even though she'll be..." she stops herself, looking above her. She shakes her head. "Just teach her, Nyle. Please."_

_I do not press her. There are things she knows now that she cannot say. "Of course I'll teach her."_

_"One more thing," she says, looking above her. "You must leave here. Soon. All of you."_

_"I was going to, anyway. As soon as the princess gets to a point in her training when she can..."_

_"No!" she says forcefully, surprising me. Cat never raised her voice. "You must leave sooner than that. All of you. As soon as you can." She is beginning to fade. Already I can see the waves behind her. "Watch the seas, Nyle, and you will know for yourself." She is almost gone, now._

_"I will," I promise. Kate begins to cry. "I want her to live among things that grow."_

_"Things that grow..." I hear her echo, and her spirit is gone, and all I have left is the baby in my arms and the deserted beach that has never seemed so empty._

VVVVV

Koran sat with his hands steepled thoughtfully underneath his chin. In the princess's absence, he sat at the head of the long conference table, frowning. Half the expected attendees were late. Keith and Allura were due to check in by comm. link, and had yet to do so, as well. It was very unlike the commander to be late. _Not good_, he thought. _Not good at all. We grow lax. Doom has not attacked in so long, and we defeated them so completely during the last battle, that I begin to fear for our safety..._

Pidge looked nervously at Hunk. He could almost hear what the older man was thinking, because he had the same misgivings himself. He had, in fact, voiced them to Hunk several times now, and had gotten nothing but half-hearted reassurances from his teammate. He would have loved to have gone directly to Lance, who was in charge of the Voltron Force in Keith's absence, but he had been unable to even _find_ him over the last two days. Lion practice had been cancelled for two days in a row, something that would have never happened when Keith was here, or even a few days before. _I have a very bad feeling about all of this..._ But he was glad, and unsurprised, to see that Charlotte was on time. He smiled at her from across the table. She was proving to be steady and reliable. If she said she would be somewhere, she was. If she said she would do something, she did it. She blinked back sleepily and smiled her brother's crooked smile. He guessed that Nanny had assisted in dressing her again: her dress was violet with puffy sleeves and ribbons lacing the front of it together. It was definitely of Arus, not Earth, and she had done something to her hair, too. It was pulled up off her forehead with some kind of jeweled chain, not unlike the circlet Princess Allura sometimes wore. _Well, she really is Lady Charlotte, I suppose..._ But her guards were with her, as always, and he was reminded of just how important, how far above him, she really was. _But she's beginning to look at home here. I hope we can keep it safe for her..._

Hunk felt the same way Pidge did. He sensed his young teammate's unease, and had done his best to reassure him more out of reflex than a lack of concern. Morale was important, Hunk knew, and he was doing his best to raise Pidge's confidence and spirits. Besides, there was little the two of them could do on their own, with Lance _and_ Keith practically AWOL. It was to the point, though, that something was going to have to change. He and Pidge had been up in their Lions, running maneuvers on their own, but what good was less than half the Voltron Force? Of the nine expected attendees, the only other one who had been on time, besides Koran, Pidge, and himself, was Charlotte, with her ever present guards standing silently against the wall behind her. _Not good_, he thought. _Not good, at all._

For her part, Charlotte sat, completely exhausted, and wondered why she felt so much tension. She knew her part here, which was to report on the size and progress of the fledgling air assault force she had brought with her from McClain Aeronautics and Industrials, and to arrange the final details of the settlement between the company and Planet Arus. She was also prepared to present a finalized list of the materials, equipment, and weaponry her family's company would provide over the next three months, a detail that, although a little dull, nonetheless excited her. It would allow her to help provide this planet she had come to feel awfully at home on with badly needed resources to rebuild. _Maybe, just maybe_, she thought, _I can be a part of building a home for my brother again_...Most of the details had been worked out already, through negotiations between herself and Koran, who was handling almost all matters of trade and rebuilding since Princess Allura had taken on a more direct military role for her planet. Koran insisted on hearing from the princess before signing any final trade deals, however, even though he was fully empowered to do so. She respected that. She wished, in fact, that she had the same kind of relationship with her own mother, in whose name she ran the company, but she didn't.

She sighed without meaning to and tried to discretely cover a yawn. What she had, instead, was a mother who kept her up at night with wild ramblings, sometimes even yelling and violence, because she was slowly detoxing from years of drug and alcohol addiction. Dr. Gorma assured her they were taking her down as quickly as was safe, and had recommended that her mother be confined to Med Center around the clock, but Charlotte couldn't do that. She simply didn't want anyone else to know how bad it was in the McClain family suite, just as she never wanted anyone to know how bad life had been in the Highlands, both with and without her brother, under the shadow of their father... She shook her head, trying to clear it of bad memories and sleep deprivation. _Shame_, she thought, remembering her mother's shrieking outburst in the middle of the night, the way Vivienne had tried to hurt herself, the way her mother's "special" bodyguard, who was also a trained nurse, had tackled and sedated her... _Who would want to do business with a family like that?_ she wondered. _Who would take us seriously?_ Her brother would, though. Lance knew. He had been there, and still bore the scars. She missed him, missed their slow walks together before dinner that had become something of a habit, missed the way he was still the only man in the world who could hug her without making her jump. She smoothed the skirts of her new dress. She was trying her best to fit in here. She smiled at Pidge and looked idly around the room, longing for coffee, looking for her brother, and trying not to analyze why this backwater planet was becoming so important to her.

"May I get you something, my lady, while we wait? Coffee or tea, perhaps?" Koran offered smoothly, seeing through her attempts to appear alert. Having spent time with Vivienne himself, he knew a bit about the girl's situation, and he admired her tremendously for the family loyalty she displayed, both in caring for her mother, and by tracking down her scoundrel brother.

"Coffee would be _wonderful_," she almost moaned, and then blushed, realizing how weak she must sound, but Koran rose smoothly and made her a cup himself, careful not to touch her accidentally when he set it down in front of her. She was grateful for that, and for the fact that the coffee was just as she liked it: so full of sugar and cream it was almost white. _How did he know how I take my coffee? _she wondered. She liked this man, and the calming effect he had on her mother. _I like them all,_ she realized suddenly. _Even the ones who aren't here. _ She wasn't used to that.

Kiari strode into the conference room next, dressed as the desert princess she so boldly embodied. Her form-fitting gown was an almost blinding gold, as were the long, lean, gold-clad legs of the warrior she was, moving freely through the long side slits of her dress. Her red hair flowed around her shoulders and back, held back by braids entwined with gold threads and coiled about her head like a crown. _I hate being late_, she thought, Saran right on her heels. She could feel his anger and disapproval. It rolled off him like waves. _I bring shame on my people. I am Clan Leader_..._what is wrong with me_? she wondered, frustrated. She had actually spent precious minutes, knowing she was already late, choosing her tightest, most blinding outfit, and making sure her hair was properly arranged. She knew what was wrong with her, and was glad her deep desert tan hid her blush. _Lance_. She was glad that he was late too. She didn't have to face him right away. Saran, who had raised four teenage daughters, could tell what was wrong with her with one piercing, disapproving glance. The only thing he didn't know was just how far out of hand things had gotten, and she intended to keep it that way. She squared her shoulders as she sat down, determined to be the proper representative her people deserved. Saran slid silently into a seat next to her. She was prepared to report on her efforts to strengthen the castle's defenses, while Saran would report on the state of their warriors and their progress in the flight training program.

"Well," Koran said, "we're almost all here," and then the vidscreen at the far end of the conference room came suddenly to life, showing both Keith and Allura sitting in a room of rough-hewn gray stone. Through a window behind them they could see a desolate gray sky. They looked well, Koran thought, surprised. Very well. The princess, particularly, glowed...

"Sorry to keep you all waiting," she said, smiling hugely. "We've been working very hard this morning, and I let time get away from me." _Liar, liar_, she thought to herself.

"No matter," Koran said dryly. "Over half of us were late, and one of us is still not..."

"Here I am," Lance said, bursting through the conference room doors, out of breath. "Sorry, sorry. Was running a diagnostic on Red Lion... got caught up..." which was an out and out lie. He studiously avoided looking at Kiari until he almost collapsed into the chair next to Koran, the one that Keith would ordinarily have occupied. She looked...resplendent. _Now there's a word I've never used before in my life_, he thought, before catching the full power of Saran's darkest glare. _Uh-oh...I wonder what he knows... but we were so careful..._

"Your Highness, Commander, we are ready with a number of reports and plans that need your approval and input..." Koran began. "I thought we could start with Lady Charlotte, since Princess Allura has already seen the final settlement, except for one minor addition. Lady Charlotte would like permission to continue her research with the Green Lion pilot, with both parties agreeing to full disclosure to the crown, of course." Allura nodded, as he had known she would.

"And the state of the air assault force?" Keith asked, leaning forward.

Charlotte cleared her throat. "Two squadrons now, the second made up entirely of V-18s. The first squadron, as you recall, lost two L-22s in the last battle, and those have been replaced, but our company thought it best not to add any more L-22s to the original squadron until we figure out why the cohesive molecular disruption field failed against what we can only assume was some kind of magical assault." Her face was stoic; she hated to deny this planet, so badly in need, of any defense it needed or wanted, but she simply couldn't afford to lose any more of the highly classified L-22 fighters, and she and Pidge were no closer to figuring out a solution.

"And we don't need Planet Doom having access to that kind of technology," Keith added, and Charlotte relaxed. He understood all the risks, then. "How many of those fighters are actually operational?"

"About a squadron and a half," Lance said. "The original squadron is still being piloted with the staff and instructors Charlotte brought with her. She still commands them herself," he said disapprovingly. He did not like his baby sister leading an assault force against the legions of Planet Doom, but there was little he could do about it. Besides, she _was_ good at it. _Did she just stick her tongue out at me?_ he wondered. Surely not. "The other half... well, Kiari can probably explain better..."

"Two of my warriors, who were decorated officers in the Royal Air Force before Zarkon's attacks, have been selected to replace the lost L-22 pilots. Half the new squadron consists of members of my tribe who have studied hard and learned quickly. The instructors from the McClain company assure us they are battle ready, but it is true that they are yet untested. The other half of the squadron is being trained as we speak."

Keith frowned. "Officers from the Royal Air Force? That would make them rather old, wouldn't it? That's an important position to put them in, since we have so few L-22s, and if they haven't flown since Zarkon attacked... how is it they were not destroyed with the rest of..."

Saran stood, planting both hands flat on the table with a thump. "A handful of us survived _because_ of our superior abilities, my _young_ commander. We were ordered to different tasks, my oldest son and I, by the King himself, that put us on the ground, and neither Kiari nor your princess would be here if he had not... and any good pilot knows that flying drains your heart of its old, earth-bound blood..." Saran paused, reaching for words. "It's like riding a bike, I think, would be the Earth equivalent..."

"Indeed," was Keith's only reply. Saran sat back down heavily. Lance made a mental note to avoid the man like the plague. _Dinners with his family are a definite no-go. Movies. Have to do movies..._ he thought.

"We meant no offence, Saran of the Red Dawn, and we are honored to have you fight with us once again," Allura said smoothly, and the black-clad warrior's face softened. Very, very slightly.

"And the Lions?" Keith asked, which was the question Lance had been dreading.

"The diagnostics are great on all three of them," Pidge said loyally, avoiding Lance's face.

"And the flight formations? Attack positions? How is actual _practice_ going, guys?" Keith prodded, dropping his super-formal facade.

"Great," Lance said. "Except for the last two days..."

"Two _days_?" Keith repeated, shocked.

"Um, yes, it's had to be... cancelled."

"Uh-huh..." Keith said, the yelling he was about to do cut suddenly off by a voice in his mind he had not heard in a very long time.

_Yeah, hello there, remember me? Your not-so trusty sidekick? I know the blocks are down,_ Lance thought at him furiously, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he strained to make himself heard at this great distance. _Did the two of you even think of that? I mean, what the _hell?_ Do you have any idea what I felt, what _happened_ to me, when those blocks came down..._

Allura tried to cover her deep blush by pretending to have a coughing fit. Keith managed to contain his shock...barely. _You felt that?_

_Yup. And I don't have time to go into it, but there were... consequences... _

_Let's _please_ not discuss this now,_ Allura begged. Her eyes, when she looked back at the screen, were watery. _Lance, I am so, so sorry... we didn't think...._

_It was quite apparent that little "thinking" was going on..._

"Princess?" Koran asked, concerned. "Are you ill?"

"No," she choked out. "It's just a bit damp here..."

_Enough, Lance,_ Keith thought, cutting his friend off. _We'll have to talk about this later._ Out loud, he said, "Then we'll have to double up, when we get back." The entire Force groaned. "Mornings _and_ afternoons. And don't skip anymore, unless somebody's dying. We haven't practiced with all the Lions, with forming Voltron, in way too long. And that's dangerous. Doom's been much too quiet. We'll be returning the day after tomorrow, bringing a guest with us, to continue Allura's training."

"Two guests, actually," Allura broke in, smiling hugely again. "I don't want to get into it now, it's neither proper nor my place, but please tell Nanny to have guest rooms, suitable for a noble house, prepared for one adult and one infant." She had that glowing look again, Koran noticed. It worried him on some obscure level. "I can't wait to see all of you again. It will be good to be together," she said, and the whole room relaxed. The Princess of Arus had that effect on people, and as they filed out of the room to their respective tasks, Lance dropped his head into his hands and groaned, realizing he was tied, intimately, in some way or another, to every single woman who had been in that room. He didn't know what to do first, thinking of Allura and Keith, looking at Kiari as she glowed gold and red behind a thunderous Saran, and watching his baby sister, looking _very_ mature and attractive, talking to a tongue-tied Pidge. _I need a drink_, he thought, but headed out to the Lions instead, like the responsible adult he had somehow wound up impersonating, on the small, insignificant planet called Arus.

VVVVV

"I think I am going to die of shame," Allura said, burying her face in his chest. "I never, _ever_ thought he might feel us when the blocks fell... dear goddess... he knows _everything_, he felt it all..."

"We weren't exactly thinking straight when that happened, you know," Keith said, his hands laced together behind her back.

Allura didn't move. "What if he didn't just _feel_?" she gasped, horrified. "What if he _saw_? Or somehow experienced it... He did say there had been 'consequences.' What if..."

"Shush," Keith said, although he was highly uncomfortable himself. He had a lot to talk about with his second-in-command and hopefully still best friend when he got back, apparently. "What's done is done. And we're talking about _Lance_ here, Allura. He'll keep his mouth shut. And he probably enjoyed himself, knowing him..." Keith muttered darkly.

"That's what I'm afraid of!" she wailed into his chest, but sat up quickly and straightened herself when there was a knock at the door. It could only be one person. "Come in, Nyle," she said, careful to make sure there was a respectable amount of space between the two of them.

Their blue-eyed host had his daughter strapped to his chest in a carrier, as he almost always did. He almost never put Kate down, Allura realized. He still managed to carry a tray loaded with bread, honey, a steaming pot of tea, and several tins. She suddenly realized how ravenous she was.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said, smiling, setting the tray down on the table beside Allura. "I missed you at lunch, so I thought perhaps an early dinner would be appreciated." _Since you missed breakfast too, Allura Blue_, he thought, as interested in seeing whether he could communicate with her as he was in teasing her. She blushed, leaving Keith a bit mystified. _I take it your commander is deaf to me?_ He asked her.

She grabbed the loaf of bread and broke it in half, handing half to Keith. She slathered it with honey and commenced to stuffing herself while she answered. _I think he can hear only me, not you too. The same thing happens with Koran. Keith and I can talk to each other, and Lance_... She blushed deeply, almost choking on her bread.

_Aahh, the mysterious third_, Nyle mused, patting Kate through the carrier. He narrowed his eyes at her, wanting to ask just how far this bond between the three of them reached, and just how powerful it was, but her deep blush told him much.

"Mind speech?" Keith asked, looking from one to the other, opening a tin of spreadable cheese.

"Forgive me, Commander. It's something I needed to check. Not everyone can engage in mind speech, and it could be important in our training," Nyle said smoothly, not wanting to let the man know that _he_ knew just who in this room could speak to who, and how powerfully, and when, but the commander merely nodded, eating with relish. Nyle propped himself against the wall, cradling his daughter through the carrier. "I have another agenda besides an early dinner, I am afraid." _He really is an attractive man,_ Allura thought as their host leaned against the wall. Nyle's blue eyes had just a touch more violet in them than hers did, which made them all the more vivid, fringed as they were by thick, dark lashes. His blond hair, streaked almost white in places by the elements, hung past his shoulders, gathered carelessly at the nape of his neck with a weathered leather cord. _He's going to cause quite a flutter at the castle_, she thought, _especially being a widower, so young, with that baby_..._the__ embodiment of great, tragic romance._..

"Is it time to torture me again?" Allura joked. "What is it this time? Pounding myself with wave after wave?"

Nyle did not smile back, which was unlike him. "No. No training today, and you must stay off the beaches entirely." He sighed, his face darkening. "We have to leave. As soon as we possibly can."

"But we were going the day after tomorrow," Keith said, watching their host intently. He knew Nyle was less than eager to leave his island home. Why the sudden impatience?

"I have been watching the seas, Commander Kogane, and they are very unsettled. In fact, I have never known anything like it, and the few records I have consulted, admittedly briefly, have no record of such disturbances, either. Surely you have felt _something_, Allura?" he asked her.

She nodded, her eyes going a bit unfocused. "It's felt...stormy, to me, or something, and I've felt like I'm on the verge of catching a cold..."

Nyle nodded. "I thought you would sense it. The closest thing I have encountered to what is happening now was a very powerful hurricane when I was a child. It was so powerful that we had to use the storm shelter, and seal it off with magic _and_ titanium shields, and it laid the land bare for miles around. I mean completely bare. No trees, no grass, not even a pebble. Thousands died. Something similar is upon us now, but it is not a storm. It is something living, something that thinks, and its thoughts are full of hate."

"Robeast?" Keith guessed, heart starting to pound. Doom had been too quiet...

"No. It is of the oceans, the oceans of Arus, and although it has magic about it, it does not carry or wield it. It grows closer, though, and it means us harm. I fear for our safety if we stay here much longer." He clutched the baby close to his heart and beckoned them to a window, gesturing toward the beach. "See for yourself."

Allura gasped, and Keith felt cold all over. All across the rocky shore, in the gathering darkness of night, as far as they could see, silvery fish had beached themselves, their nearly white bellies turned upward as their gills opened and closed, flopping while they tried to breathe out of their element. Many had stopped moving and were already dead. Every inch of beach was covered with dead or dying fish. Even more disturbing, the walls of the tower were covered with every kind of insect imaginable, scraping themselves against the tower, trying to find a way in, and the ones that could fly were battering themselves against the walls.

"Do you see?" Nyle asked. "Nature has gone wild. Fish would rather die on land than stay in the water with whatever is out there. Insects are trying to force sanctuary with humans openly. There is not a single bird left on the island; all have fled. This is very, very bad, and we must leave as soon as we can."

Keith thought quickly. "Can you tell us anything else? Like how much time we have?"

"No," Nyle admitted. "I am not even completely sure what 'this' is. This came upon us suddenly. The oceans were calm and the beaches were clear as little as a few hours ago. Whatever it is, it could be upon us now, or it could be here tomorrow. I know not. But we must leave. How soon can you be ready?"

Keith and Allura exchanged the tense, loaded look of mind to mind communication. "I just need one thing," Allura said, grabbing a battered book from her bedside table. They already wore their uniforms, and everything that was truly essential had stayed with the Lions. "We're ready _now_, Nyle. How soon can _you_ be ready?"

He smiled, turning slightly so they could see the small pack on his back. "My sword and staff are in the hall. Besides the baby, diapers, and milk, there is nothing I need, and I have those here." Little Kate wailed impatiently, and he dangled a large, square-cut blue jewel on a long ribbon in front of her. Allura recognized it from what she now thought of as the pepper cheese incident. Kate reached for it impatiently, sticking the rectangular jewel in her mouth like a regular baby toy. As it reached her tiny pink mouth, the castle shook, rocked to its very foundation. Nyle fell suddenly to his knees, his forehead suddenly dripping sweat. Through it all, he held his daughter steadily against him.

"The wards are down," he gasped out. "It's upon us already."

"_What _is upon us, Nyle?" Keith almost yelled, wanting to shake the man, with his mystical ravings about wards, but that would mean shaking the baby as well. Allura cried out from the window, rigid, pointing.

"Leviathan," Nyle choked out. "I thought they were a myth, a legend. There is no way this is a natural thing... someone set this upon us...we are truly lost, now..." he looked at his daughter.

"We have to get to the Lions," Keith yelled. "Allura! Come _on_! We have to reach them..." He grabbed Nyle by a shoulder, no longer caring if he jostled Kate, and dragged them down the stairs as the castle shook and rocked around them. Nyle had managed to grab his staff after tightening the carrier as much as he could, and was trying to move steadily, carrying his sword in his other hand. Allura, bringing up the rear, cried out as falling rock crushed her shoulder against the wall. "I'm ok!" she shouted before Keith could ask. "Go! Go, go, go!"

But when they got to the door in the main hall, the one that stood directly across the beach from their Lions, Keith understood what Nyle had meant. There was no way they were going to make it across the beach. The creature, as big as a transport ship from Doom, had already dragged its bloated gray carcass, covered with layers of shells, bones, rock, mud, and other detritus, across the space between the castle and their lions. Its multiple arms, thicker than tentacles and jointed in at least four places, made it resemble some kind of huge, gray aquatic spider that had mated with a whale. Its arms grabbed the upper reaches of the tower, shaking and tearing while rock tumbled down around the small group. A single flip of its finned tail against the rocky beach brought parts of the ceiling down around them and rocked them to their knees.

"It's between us and the Lions," Allura said, watching as its thrashing body crushed the dead fish carcasses underneath it. The smell was unbearable; she knew she would be able to recall it until the day she died.

"I can't risk the baby on the open beach," Nyle said, staring at the creature with a kind of horrible fascination.

"You want to risk staying _here_ with the baby?" she yelled at him as more of the ceiling fell in. "Commander, what's the plan?"

"Here's the plan," Keith said, pulling out both blasters and aiming at the creature's midsection. "Shoot it, and run like hell." He fired, and Allura followed suit only seconds behind him. A section of ceiling fell, and Keith struggled to keep his balance as a rock smashed into the back of his head. His vision blurred briefly. _No time for head wounds now_, he told his body fiercely.

Their blasters had almost no impact on the creature at all. Red, raw sore spots appeared on the creature's sides where their blasters struck, and Keith fired again and again, until he could see whiter flesh under the red spots. But still, it did nothing to slow it down. It roared and moved much more quickly than he would ever have thought possible, wrapping its body around the entire tower, roaring as it contracted.

"I think we just managed to make it even madder," Nyle remarked calmly. Both hands were on his sword now.

"It's _squeezing_ the tower," Allura yelled over the din of falling rock and shattering glass.

"That may mean it's attention is occupied elsewhere," Keith said, preparing to sprint across the beach. "I'm going first. Black Lion can cover you. When I start shooting, _run like hell_."

"_Keith_!" she screamed, but he was already gone, leaving her alone with Nyle, who was bent over almost double protecting his daughter beneath him. The walls strained inward, cracking and breaking, and layers of floors from above them fell faster around them. They both were hit with falling debris; Allura covered her head as her shoulders and arms absorbed the impact of countless rocks and pieces of wood. Nyle cried out, and she looked to see a piece of glass embedded deeply in his shoulder. Dark blood soaked through his cloak.

"Allura, come here!" he yelled at her. She had little choice as she was almost flung into him by the force of a falling beam. "I can't cover Kate and hold the staff too. We need shields. You have to help me." She grabbed the staff with both hands, not comprehending his intentions, as he held onto it with one. "Now, concentrate," he said to her in his calm teacher's voice, amazingly enough. "Remember how to boil water... imagine that you are boiling a pan of water, and it's right over our heads..." And she felt power flow out of her and into him, and suddenly there was a bubble of what looked like water all around them, and things fell from the ceilings, from the walls, but slid off the barrier...

Kate began to wail. She had been silent, amazingly enough, until now. Allura was grateful beyond words for the shield, but she was desperate for Keith, to know he was alright, that he had made it... Suddenly, the shaking slowed, and Allura found herself looking into huge, black, hate-filled eyes, aged and enraged, and she knew the magic around this creature, she recognized the fingerprints. Haggar. The creature roared, bathing them in its breath, and as she gagged, she saw its thousand sharp teeth, each one the size of the dagger Kiari wore strapped to her thigh, but thinner, like stakes, and in some cases, needles. "I think it smells magic, Nyle," she said. "I think it's found us," she said, unnecessarily.

"Scylla and Charybdis," he said, and she wondered if he was praying to some obscure ocean gods. "I doubt this will hold against it." He thought furiously for a moment, staring into the monster's mouth, and seemed to come to some decision. "Allura, take the baby."

"No! Nyle, no! Keith will make it, I know he will..."

"Take the baby. _Take her now._ It's a slim chance, but it's all we've got." He looked down at his daughter briefly. "Allura, if you get the chance, if I _do_ divert its attention, even for a moment, take the baby and run. If not... there's the storm shelter. The entrance is in the base of the tower. I doubt it will hold, against this thing, or we would be there now, but still, it's better than nothing..." and she was holding a small, squirming bundle, and Nyle was in front of her, walking _into_ the monster's mouth, his sword held out in front of him this time, slashing at the thing, driving his sword deep into the wall of its cavernous mouth. Its roar of pain and anger drowned out Nyle's cry of pain as several of its sharpened-stake teeth pierced his shoulder, the very one already soaked with blood, and although he staggered, he did not stop slashing; she closed her eyes, she couldn't look....

She heard laser blasts, and metal claws, missiles, and what sounded like bombs going off. The creature roared and turned swiftly from them, leaving Nyle standing there holding his sword and his mangled shoulder, and, as her heart resumed its beating in her chest, she heard Keith's voice in her mind, saying, _Run, dammit! I told you to run like hell..._

She grabbed the last Water Mage on Arus by the hand and dragged him with her, his baby in her other arm, across the beach, mere feet from where Black Lion was wrestling, teeth and claws bared, with the Leviathan, and ran, hell-bent, for Blue Lion.


	7. Chapter 7: A Changing of the Guard

Author's Note: Thanks, everyone, esp. cms, Harmony, wade wells, Xia and Mertz, Rocky, and Philip Gipson, whose feedback is appreciated. Heart, I promise, big guy action happening soon. And I'm sorry if I'm leaving anyone out. Hard chapter to write. A very long one, but I may not be able to post for a few days. Remodeling a bedroom. Allegedly. Will make it up to you. Warnings: Violence, suggestive adult situation at the end, but I think that's it. Really.

Playlist: Supertramp, "Give a Little Bit," and Cowboy Junkies, "To Live is to Fly," a Townes Van Zandt cover, and "Southern Rain." I've got new speakers, so I bet this list is going to get even stranger soon...

And all the usual disclaimers apply: I don't own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Seven:

A Changing of the Guard

She stood in the corridor right outside his bedroom, unsure of what to do with herself. What she really longed to do, what she had longed to do nearly every night since her arrival, was to slip into his room like she used to when they were children, when they had both been frightened and alone in the universe, it seemed, except for each other. Holding herself perfectly still, she noticed absently that she was making circles on the floor with her toe again. _Nervous habit_, she chided herself. She was used to holding herself perfectly still, had done it for as long as she could remember. It was the best way to see danger coming, the best way to gauge people, their true intentions. But part of her body would not obey her mind. It was as if she had some kind of nervousness in her, some disquiet, which _would_ come out, in some fashion, whether she wished it to or not.

She sighed, still staring at his door, her toe still moving in slow circles. She liked the long dresses here on Arus, and had been quick to adopt them. She could tap away under her long skirts. She could hide many things, under long skirts, including the blaster Lance had insisted she carry, strapped to her thigh. "All the cool girls here are doing it," he had teased her. But he had warned her to keep it secret. _Another reminder that we're still at war_, she thought, no matter how peaceful it felt lately.

She was also grateful for the long sleeves of her gown as she rubbed lightly at the long, deep gouges up and down her shoulders and arms. The blue gown that matched her eyes would not hide the bruise across her cheek, though. Nanny had supplied her with a few dresses suitable for a girl her age and "station" here on Arus, most of them some shade of blue. Nanny, apparently, was fond of choosing signature colors for young ladies. _It could be worse. It could have been pink..._ She shook herself, realizing she was wool gathering, that she was scared. _I have to tell him. He has to help me. There is no one else...._

Her ever present personal guards stood behind her. _They'll have to stay out here, in the hall... if my brother can't protect me, no one can._ She felt a swell of pride at the thought. He had always been tough. He had to be, his entire life. But here on Arus, he had changed into almost another kind of human being entirely. _My brother is a complete and total badass_, she grinned, wondering how much the Lion he piloted, and the giant robot defender it formed, had to do with it, and how much of it had been there all the time, lurking inside him.

The door to his quarters slid open and closed as she stood there indecisively, and the fierce, beautiful red-haired woman who had formed an attachment with her brother slipped out into the hall. Charlotte found her demeanor suddenly interesting; she had never seen this woman, who seemed so confident, even deadly, "slip" anywhere. She knew, then, that this woman and her brother had become something more than friends and colleagues, even though there was nothing to betray that fact on Kiari's face. The two women faced each other, almost challengingly at first, as if in some kind of stand-off. _I won't tell_, Charlotte wanted to say, recognizing a secret when she saw one, but she was frozen, as she so often was, by the unexpected. Her guards shifted slightly behind her.

"Hello there," Kiari said gently, smiling at Lance's little sister. The guards relaxed at the greeting. Kiari thought about Lance's childhood, and could only imagine what such an environment would have been like for a girl who seemed as delicate as the one who stood before her. Of all the Voltron Force, of all their close friends and allies, with the sole exception of Hunk, she alone had grown up surrounded by a huge, loving family; Saran had seen to it that she never felt like an outsider in his home. She had scars, of course; everyone did, these days. But she wanted to be friends with this fragile young contradiction of a woman, who was so quiet and contained in person, but an absolute tigress in the air, so she smiled again. Then she noticed the bruise.

"You are injured," she stated simply, knowing better than to touch or embrace the young woman. "Your brother will not be pleased. Nor am I."

"It's nothing," she said automatically, trained as she was in years of denial.

Kiari crossed her arms in front of her in an effort _not_ to touch a weapon, as was her own nervous habit. "Very well," she sighed. She looked at the guards behind the young woman disapprovingly. "A woman should always know how to defend herself, especially in the times in which we live. There are many here who would teach you. Our own princess, in fact, has been learning such lessons, and would _find_ the time to show you, were you so inclined, as would I, and as your brother certainly would." She smiled again, to soften her words. "Perhaps then you would neither need, nor want, so many layers of protection." She performed a curious kind of bow from her waist. "I wish you a peaceful evening, Charlotte McClain, and remember that you may call upon me anytime." She was gone in a whirl of gold and red, walking with a directness and confidence Charlotte could only stare at.

"She's rather intimidating at first," Lance said, leaning against the door to his quarters. "But once you get used to her..." He grinned before he remembered who he was talking to, and stopped himself. "Hey there, little sis..." Suddenly he was at her side before she saw him move, holding her face. "Dear god," he said as he examined her bruise, and then swore softly under his breath. "Wait in the hall," he told the guards, who waited for a nod from Charlotte before obeying. _I don't like them_, Lance thought, but then wondered if he was simply irked because they ignored him.

"Show me the rest of it," he ordered gently, once she was seated on his bed, the door sealed shut behind them. He was sickly sure there _was_ more, and he was right.

"Help me with this dress," she said, in a whisper. Wordlessly he unfastened the back of it and helped her slip out of the bodice and sleeves. He hissed.

"Holy hells, Charlotte," he breathed. This was bad, even for _their_ family. Deep gouges, crusted with blood, ran up and down both arms. Her shoulders had what looked like puncture wounds, where someone with long nails and an unnatural strength had gripped her and perhaps shaken her. "Have you seen Dr. Gorma?" he asked, although he already knew the answer. She shook her head mutely and he swore again. He disappeared into his bathroom and emerged with a tube of ointment. He sat down beside her and gently dabbed it on her wounds. "Anywhere else?" he asked tensely. She shook her head again. He knew that many thought her weak, that many wondered how she could be so fierce in the air, safe in her fighter, yet be so fragile elsewhere, but he knew how strong she was. He knew how much strength it took to exist in a situation like hers, even if her intentions were misguided and informed by a life of knowing no other way to live. "I don't have any bandages," he told her when he was done, holding her in his arms, her chin under his head, blood crusted on the long white undershirt she wore. "But let's get you out of that dress and into something that breathes, like cotton. I've got a long sleeved t-shirt that will do." He was strangely reluctant to let her go, even to do this one small thing. What if it had been worse? What if their mother, locked in her own private insanity, had done something worse? He shuddered. What if he lost her entirely again?

He pulled a shirt from the clean basket of laundry he had yet to fold and put away, along with a pair of sweatpants, much too big. "That's it, sister mine. She's got to go. You've done your best, more than you should have, and you can't help her anymore. _Her addictions are not your fault._ She needs more help than you can give her, and _I can't lose you again_, not after I just found you." His voice cracked. "She's too dangerous. She has to go to Med Center full time, or we'll send her someplace more long term, someplace off-planet, until she detoxes and can control herself again." He felt her silent sobs, then, as she leaned against him. He rocked her. "I know, I know. Baby girl. We need to get you some help, too. You should talk to someone about this, someone you can _really_ talk to, about all of it, about our mother _and_ our father..." He felt her stiffen instantly. He'd said the forbidden word. Father. Damn. He ran his hands through his wild hair.

"You think I need a therapist," she accused.

"I just want you to be ok," he whispered. She stared back at him, before rising silently to change in his bathroom. _And down she shuts, yet again_, Lance thought, slamming his fist into his bed. "I love you, baby sister, no matter what," he called to her. She said nothing in reply. He could only sit there, frustrated, hoping she had heard him.

The castle alarms began shrieking full blast.

_We're in trouble now,_ he thought. _We should never, ever, have split the Force...hopefully, Keith and Allura can be back here soon enough...maybe it's not that serious..._ but in his heart, he knew it was. He was up in seconds, heading out the door, when he remembered Charlotte. "Can you fight?" he asked, halfway out the door already.

Her face was haunted and accusatory as she reappeared in his bathroom door, dwarfed by his clothes. "I don't know how to do anything else," she half hissed, half whispered. "I'll see you in the air, brother mine."

Heart in his throat for more reasons than he could count, he ran for Castle Control. He didn't wait for her.

VVVVV

"This is really, really not good, " Allura swore as she tried to power up her Lion, monitor the monster only feet from them, settle an injured passenger and an _infant_, for the goddess's sake, behind her pilot's seat, and reach Keith all at the same time.

_Keith_? she thought at him, her fingers tightening the straps around Nyle in the single jump seat Blue Lion had waiting for them. Obviously, Nyle was meant to hold onto his daughter, strapped to his chest in her carrier still, for awhile longer. _As long as this takes_, she thought grimly, watching on the monitor as Black Lion struggled to get some kind of firm hold on the creature, tried to wrestle it on the beach beneath it, but the creature was strong, and Black Lion's claws had a hard time digging into its skin, or scales, or whatever was covering it... Keith was pinned now, Black Lion roaring and clawing, letting loose with a barrage of what seemed like every bit of weaponry in its arsenal, including some weapons Allura had never seen him use before, hadn't even known existed, and still, he kept winding up being pinned beneath the monster, as they grappled on the beach. _Keith!_ she screamed, full of panic and unsure of her next move.

_A little...busy, Allura..._ he thought back, and she could hear the strain in his voice as he fought to control Black Lion, to strike back at this abomination of nature that had been unleashed upon them. His thoughts were as tight, as breathless, even, as if he were wrestling with the thing hand to hand. _Can't...get a grip on it..._

_I'm coming, Keith_, she thought frantically, her hands practically flying over Nyle and the baby. _Just hold on..._ She hissed as she brought the harness across Nyle's injured shoulder. Already blood-soaked from the jagged shard of glass, which she assumed he had somehow pulled out himself while the castle came crashing down around them _and_ managed to protect an infant, his clothing hung from his bare shoulder in blood-soaked tatters. Dark lines snaked their way away from the deep punctures and tears of the creature's teeth where it had begun to bite his shoulder. The dark lines looked like veins, snaking outward from the red and already festering wounds, their poison already moving their way towards his heart...

"Nyle," she said, horrified. "That looks like..."

"Blood poisoning," he finished, smiling weakly. He cradled his daughter closer to him with his one good arm, absently checking the straps for tightness.

"But it's much too soon to be so _advanced_," she said, dazed. _Not possible, it's not possible, none of this is possible_... her mind sang at her.

"That's a pretty nasty beastie out there, Allura Blue," he said mildly. He was pallid and sweaty, his eyes already going a bit unfocused. "You can't worry about me, you know. He needs your help." She snapped back into focus, back to the creature on the beach between herself and the man she loved, the man she was going to marry, and felt a blind rage overcome her, deadly in its intensity, but one that left her coldly focused and determined.

"Right," she snapped, switching the comm. system on so that communication could be verbal as well as mental, if needed. "Keith, I'm coming up behind it," she said. "I'm going to go for the back of its neck and head, whatever I can hit. It can't fight us both off. At least, I hope not."

"Negative, Allura," he said over the comm. system through clenched teeth. "You're carrying passengers, an infant, and I can't let you..." His words were interrupted by the sound of metal crunching. Allura could see that the thing had him pinned completely now and was wrapping its body around him, just as it had done with the Castle of Mists.

"Keith, it's crushing you!"

No response except the sound of twisting metal.

"Keith! _Keith_!" she screamed, charging the creature with claws extended. She latched onto the back of its neck, Blue Lion clinging with all four claws and its massive jaws. Even so, it was all she could do to get even a slippery purchase on the creature. _Scales_, she thought. Its hide was covered with thousands of thick scales so dark they seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. "It's scaled," she cried out. "It's hard to get a grip."

"Not everywhere," Keith's voice said, flooding the cockpit. Allura wanted to collapse in relief, but she had her hands full merely trying to cling to the creature's back. "It's covered with a thick kind of hide over some of its more vulnerable areas, like its throat and belly. I've been trying to tear out its throat, but it keeps pinning me every time I get close."

Allura thought furiously. Blue Lion released the creature, and it roared in surprise.

"Allura! Report! Are you alright?"

"Yes! Fine! I just had an idea," she said, eyes narrowed in concentration as she studied the beast beneath her. Once, long ago, she had seen her father break one of the wild horses Kiari's father, Clan Leader Aran, had brought to him specifically for that purpose. Her father loved horses. She remembered watching, full of equal parts horror and pride, as he grabbed its wild mane and held on for dear life, until it had run itself out of strength and finally, sides heaving and lathered, quieted itself. She remembered helping brush the same horse, long after it had been tamed, her father showing her which direction to pull the brush, telling her that pulling it in the wrong direction could hurt the animal, because its hair grew only one way... "I'm going to ride it," she said, to no one in particular, studying its scales.

"Allura, no! I'm trying to raise the castle, we can have the other Lions here soon, and we can form Voltron..." Keith's comm. system cut out entirely as she heard him cry out, heard the shriek of metal and glass, and then there was nothing from her beloved Black Lion pilot, and she charged the creature crushing him beneath it.

Blue Lion landed on the back of the creature's neck again, but in the opposite direction this time, digging its claws underneath the scales, against the grain of their growth. This time, she got a good grip on the thing, grabbing flesh, and not impossibly thick, hard scales. She knew she had it when it roared and thrashed even harder, rolling off Keith in an effort to crush her underneath it instead. She saw the ground coming at her and let loose with lasers and torpedoes, blades forming in her Lion's mouth, slashing down and up, underneath its scales, connecting with flesh, drawing forth an oozing green substance that she could only hope was blood. As the creature roared and rolled, she let go just inches before she would have been crushed beneath it, Blue Lion airborne once again.

She could not get enough clearance to avoid a blow from one of its jointed appendages. She grappled with the controls, Blue Lion spinning, and saw, to her utter horror, what the creature had done. Black Lion lay in a twisted heap on the beach, its head twisted in an unnatural position, exactly like a real animal that had been terminally injured. _Don't think like that_, she told herself, blinking back tears. Black Lion's sides were crushed inward, and she could see puncture marks through its hull where the beast had bitten through. But she had only a second to take in the horrifying image before the creature was charging at her again. She pulled back on the control bar, banking sharply upward, trying to escape its reach, but was knocked to the ground anyway by one of its flailing arms...legs... whatever they were...

"Castle Control!" she screamed, practically banging on the touch screen. "Castle Control, this is Blue Lion, why won't you respond?" _Lance_, she thought as furiously as she ever had. _Lance, we're in trouble. Keith's hurt, there's a Leviathan..._ "Koran? Anyone!"

Blue Lion tumbled backward from the blow, head over tail, but landed on all fours in a fierce roar, facing the creature dragging itself across the beach toward it, the ocean at the Lion's back.

"What do you know, cats really do always land on their feet," Nyle laughed softly, drunkenly. _The poison must be spreading then_. He did not sound entirely lucid. If she was going to get any help from him, from the last Water Mage on Planet Arus, she was going to have to do it soon, she realized grimly. She keyed in the command for an automatic distress signal, not just to Castle Control, but also to any ship that might be in the area.

"Let's hope they have nine lives, too," Allura said grimly, looking at Nyle over her shoulder. "Nyle? Nyle! I need your help."

"Mmmm. Not much good to you, I' afraid. A bit of a fuzzy head, you see."

"I need you to use your magic, somehow. Do something. Anything! But do it now, Nyle, or never at all." The Leviathan crawled its way towards them, ancient hate and rage boiling deep within its eyes. She readied herself to spring, to try for its throat this time, as Keith had done, trying to lure it away from the mangled form of Black Lion, away from the man she loved...

"Not that, Allura, it will crush you," Nyle said. His tongue sounded swollen. "Bait it into the water. Blue Lion was made for water. Not like Black Lion, or the others...It will not be able to crush you, as water does nothing but flow. Lure it out, into the deep... its throat will be bare to you, in the deep, with nothing to crush you against."

_Of course_, she thought, firing her thrusters and flying backwards, low, on level with the pounding waves, Blue Lion looking for all the world as if it were walking on water. "Can't you _do_ anything? Call up a storm? Some sharks, or something, to help us fight it?"

"All have fled...everything, gone... including me, soon...Cat..." And when he started talking to his dead wife, she knew she was close to losing him. The baby, amazingly, stayed quiet throughout.

"Castle Control here," Koran's welcome voice said over the comm. system.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" she screamed, tensing herself as the monster slid into the ocean, rearing up halfway to try and grab her. She thrust backwards, moving further out. _Like fishing...come on, beastie, take the nice Blue bait..._ "We need the Lions! We've got a Leviathan, and Keith... Black Lion's not responding...we need Voltron..."

"I'm afraid that's going to be a bit of a problem," Koran said, sounding as strained as she had ever heard him.

"Why?" she demanded. The Leviathan was more than halfway in the water now, and even reared up, its appendages flailing for her, it was still neck deep in the ocean. She inched backwards, and the creature followed, wild to get at her.

_Allura_? Lance said in her mind. She felt fear and rage in his thoughts.

_Lance! I've been calling and calling! We need you...Keith's not moving...we're under attack..._

_I'm afraid that's going to be a bit of a problem, sweetheart, _he thought.

_Why? What are you talking about? _

"Actually, Princess, we were hoping you and the commander could be back here in time to form Voltron as quickly as possible. You see, the castle is under attack," Koran said frantically.

"How bad?" she asked. The creature, nearly immersed completely now, actually jumped up at her, smacking her with one of its arms. For one horrible instant she was afraid it could fly, but then it sank back down, still only partially emerged.

"Robeast," Koran said, and Allura swore.

"I can't get any kind of response from Black Lion," Allura said. "The creature...crushed him, or something...he was trying to get us out...I'm alone, fighting this thing, and I don't think Black Lion can fly, the way it looks now." It was almost, almost, in the water all the way. Allura prepared herself to dive. She flipped her outside lights on, all of them. She could dive without them, but she wanted to make sure the creature could see her under the water. She hoped she could out-swim it. Under water battles weren't something she had trained for...yet.

"So...no Voltron?" Koran said flatly.

"I don't see how, at least, not for the next little while," she said, cutting all non-essential operations, hoping it would give her added power for her dive, for her frantic swim...

_Take care, angel,_ Lance thought at her, and she was frightened by the sudden blankness of his thoughts. _We'll be fine until you get here. Everything's going to be fine. We'll just hold this thing off until you get back, Black Lion in tow, and we'll have a great big old fish fry..._

_Lance!_

_Just take out that thing. Take care of yourself. Come back to us._ His thoughts were fiery again, but something about them made her want to weep..._ I love you angel, you and him, both._

_Lance! _

Two things happened at once.

Lance's presence in her mind vanished.

And, choking back her fear, she dove, deep and hard, flying Blue Lion under the water in a diagonal direction, out into the deepest waters, and she was torn between sheer terror and exultation that it worked. The Leviathan was following her as Blue Lion headed into the depths like a drowning shooting star.

VVVVV

"We've never fought one of these without Voltron," Pidge said.

"We took out that squid thing during that last battle," Lance objected, ducking an oncoming Robeast swipe. Red Lion roared, blasting it with flames.

"What's wrong with Keith and the princess? What's the hold up?" Hunk asked.

They were staring directly at the largest, most powerful Robeast they had yet to see unleashed on Planet Arus. It was easily as broad across as the last three they had fought, put together, and its multiple arms had already sent each one of them spinning crazily towards the ground, bare inches from crashing. It was smarter than the other ones, as well. It refused to be baited out into the wasted lands surrounding the castle, heading, instead, directly for the structure itself, and for the fledgling town growing up beside it. Lance was worried. Very worried. And, knowing, now, about the situation Allura and Keith were in, that worry had been multiplied a thousand fold.

"They would be here if they could, you know that. We're just going to have to try. To either hold this one off for as long as it takes them to get here, or we're going to have to destroy this Robeast _without_ the big guy."

"We should never have split the Force," Pidge said darkly, after a long silence. He was blasting the creature's midsection with lasers and torpedoes.

"We had Charlotte's L-22s that last time, and _all_ five Lions were there, even if we hadn't formed Voltron yet," Hunk reminded him. As if he needed reminding. His stomach twisted at the mention of his sister, remembering how they had parted on less than ideal terms, then twisted again at the thought of her leading the charge of fighters out of the castle any minute now. Lance fired directly into the Robeast's eyes, and then swiped at its throat with his claws for good measure.

"I'm just pointing out that we've got some help, this time, and all we have to do is hold it off, keep it away from the castle..." Lance said, his heart sinking as he realized the massive Robeast was not heading away from the castle. Despite the three Lions throwing everything they had it, it moved steadily towards the shining titanium structure. "Where _are_ those fighters? Command One, status report!" he barked. Enough was enough. His sister's fighters should have been here by now.

There was no answer.

"I said, Command One, report! Now, please! We haven't got all day..."

The Robeast was growing wilder, stomping as it approached the castle. Statues and newly restored fountains crushed into dust beneath its feet.

"Lieutenant McClain, this is Command Two, your sister's second in command..." said a strained and panicked voice over the comm. system.

"I know who you are," Lance said guardedly, his stomach sinking. He landed Red Lion on the Robeast's massive back, slashing at it while he burned it with his favorite weapons of all time, his Lion Torches. "Where in the hell is my sister, and why aren't you guys in the air?"

"We're having trouble with the L-22s, sir." The voice sounded even more panicked, if such a thing was possible. "None of them seem to be working."

"_What_?" all three Lion pilots exclaimed at once.

"That's not possible," Hunk asserted. "We just ran a systems check this morning..."

"And I ran another one right before that conference..." Pidge added, worry deeply etched in the young Green Lion pilot's voice.

_That makes sense,_ Lance thought, caught between a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and a growing sense of horror. _That's where she is. There's some trouble with her fighters, so she's checking it out..._

"All of them save one, sir," Charlotte's second-in-command added. "One of them is missing."

Lance felt as if had been punched in the gut. _Focus_, he told himself fiercely, trying to focus on the Robeast lumbering towards the castle, but he found it nearly impossible to process this news in the calm manner his commander seemed to possess, even in the worst battles. He hung onto the Robeast, clawing at it frantically, firing everything he had at the back of its head while it roared and tried to throw him off. He hung on grimly, not wanting to ask the questions he knew he had to.

Pidge beat him to it. "Where is your commander?" he asked, his voice a kind of flat calm rage Lance had never heard before. "Where is Charlotte?"

"We don't know," was the hesitant, even frightened, admission. "She never arrived, and then we found the L-22s inoperative, and she is not responding to her comm. unit."

Lance let loose a string of curses that surprised even him. "Find her, damn you! Or are you just going to stand there and gape at your damned useless hunks of scrap all day?" he raged.

"We've got people on it," was the cold reply. "We'll let you know as soon as we know something."

Lance wanted to let the Robeast step on the hangars and crush the idiot. He tried to focus through his haze of rage. "Kiari? Did you hear all that?"

"Yes, Lance, I am in Castle Control, monitoring the situation with Koran. You may not have L-22s, but you have other operative fighters, and they should be..."

Roughly one squadron of fighters, not the sleekly beautiful and classified L-22s, but advanced nonetheless, launched out of the hangars and flew straight for the oncoming Robeast. "Permission to engage directly," Saran's voice said calmly.

"In light of recent...events...I took the liberty of relieving your sister's staff of any kind of command position, and replaced them with someone I trust implicitly," Koran said smoothly as Saran's squadron of V-18s flew in tight groupings between the Robeast and the castle.

"Good," Lance said, relieved. "Pidge, Hunk, let's slice and dice this Robeast, as much as possible, concentrating on its lower half. Try to disable it, keep it from walking. Saran, you and your fighters blow the hell out of its upper half. Tear it apart."

"Yes, Lieutenant. My pleasure," the grizzled old warrior replied, before he began barking out a series of orders that had his fighters dividing into separate wings, each one aiming for a specific area of the Robeast's head. It roared and swatted the fighters like flies.

As he and Pidge and Hunk concentrated on its legs, trying to stop its steady march towards the castle, he addressed Castle Control once again. "Kiari? If you can... find my sister?"

Her voice, when she answered, was soft and deadly. She sounded as if she was running. "I am already doing so, fire of my heart," she said.

VVVVV

Allura drove Blue Lion harder than she had ever done before. Behind her, the Leviathan, in its natural element, followed her just as swiftly. _Soon_, she told herself, blades extending from Blue's mouth as she prepared to turn herself and grapple with the nightmare creature behind her. _Not so close to the ocean floor that it can pin me, not so close to the shore that it can go back for Keith_, she thought, breathing a silent prayer as she checked over Blue Lion's sensors. _Almost_, she thought. They were almost midway between the bottom of the Northern Sea's ocean floor and its surface.

"It's male," Nyle said suddenly, softly, the poison gathering ever closer to his heart. Still his daughter had not screamed. Allura wondered briefly if the man had drugged her, but knew Nyle would never do such a thing. The baby had been unnaturally quiet during the entire thing, for which Allura was grateful. She could not imagine trying to do what she was about to do, had been doing, with a screaming baby in her ear. _I should have left them on the beach... but there was no time..._

"Like me," he giggled. Allura cut her lights. "So like me... lost his wife..."

She looked up sharply. "Nyle? What are you talking about? Stay with me. Try to."

"I'm floating a bit, Allura Blue. Can pick up some thoughts. It thinks it's looking for its mate." Nyle laughed, as if at a great joke. "Aren't we all? Me, you, the Leviathan..."

Allura brought Blue Lion around sharply, counting on the Leviathan's confusion at her sudden disappearance to buy her a few precious seconds. "It has no mate, it's the last of its kind. Tell it, Nyle, if you can. If it can hear you...tell it the witch tricked it." She pulled Blue sharply to the left, making a tight circle around the creature, coming up underneath it, where, this time, there was nothing below them but water. _No way to crush me now, you bastard_, she thought. _Unlike Keith...my Keith..._

"So alike...the last Leviathan...last Water Mage..." Nyle rasped out.

Allura took no chances that Nyle would reach it, if that was what he was doing, if he wasn't just succumbing to the poison in his system. She shot up under the creature, surprising it, perhaps, and latched on to the thick hide of its throat, exactly where Keith had told her it was. Blue Lion thrust powerfully at the creature, and she slashed and slashed, the water around them darkening with a cloud of the creature's blood, as if they wrestled in a swirl of ink in the dark, deep waters. The creature's segmented arms came up around her, trying to crush her, but she only used that to her advantage, letting the crushing force push her blades even deeper into the creature's neck. Then it tried to shake her off, and she switched to using Blue Lion's claws and heavy metal jaws, biting and digging its way through the creature's neck. Allura, knowing the ocean floor was approaching, told herself she would not stop until she tore through the creature's throat entirely and came out the other side.

"Die," Nyle whispered. "Wants to..."

Blue Lion roared as it bit through the Leviathan's neck, its throat completely torn out. If she had not clawed her way completely through, the creature's lifeless body would have crushed her as they crashed against the bottom of the Northern Sea. For one stunned second, Allura took a deep breath, hardly daring to believe. Then she pulled back on Blue Lion's controls, headed back to the surface, back to the man she loved and the wreckage of his Lion.

VVVVV

"We have full power to the castle's shields," Koran told him as the Robeast, assaulted from all sides, continued lumbering onward despite its massive injuries. Its legs were cut to shreds, and Lance had succeeded in burning one of its feet completely off. Pidge and Hunk had cut off its other foot, but the thing dragged itself forward, despite missing an arm, now, and most of its face, courtesy of Saran's fighters. The Robeast tottered onward on bloody stumps, destroying everything in its path, everything he and his friends had worked so hard to build...

And that, to Lance, was not even the worst thing. Statues could be remade. Trees could grow again. But lives were irreplaceable.

"Have you evacuated the castle?" Lance asked.

"Already done. Everyone is safe in the old cave systems, even Med Center," Koran told him. Then he asked the question he did not want to ask, the question he was afraid he already knew the answer to. "Kiari? Anything to report?" The Robeast had reached the castle now, and was pounding against its walls like a child throwing a tantrum. The castle's gun turrets were unmanned; they could not fire, anyway. The Robeast hit nothing but the castle's shields, which stood strong against the impact of its fists. _That's the thing about force fields,_ Lance thought bitterly, thinking of his sister, her walls and her secrets, the pain she held inside, her ever present guards. _Nothing gets in, but nothing gets out, either._

"Fireheart," she said, trying to remind him of his bravery before she told him. He was going to need it. "Your sister is gone. She is nowhere in the castle. Four of her guards have been shot dead in the corridor outside your quarters. One of them is missing. One of the stealth fighters is missing, as well. One that could carry two people. There were signs of a struggle, including scraps of your clothing, and a blaster, small enough for the hands of a girl, that had blood across the bottom of the handle." Her words fell into the gulf of a shocked silence, even as the Robeast beat against the castle's shields and they continued to hit it with all that they could.

_It's literally falling to pieces, now, and still, nothing's stopping it_, Lance thought absently. _Oh, and Charlotte's missing. My clothes. She was wearing my clothes. And blood, on her blaster..._

"No," Pidge whispered, horrified.

"It is my fear that she has been taken. This has all the marks of Doom upon it," Kiari said, determined to spell out the situation completely. "I am so sorry, love. We will find her, and get her back, I swear it with my life..."

Lance noticed that the Robeast had stepped on Allura's garden. Sudden, illogical rage bloomed within him. "No Doom scum steps on Allura's garden," he said, and he found, to his surprise, that he was actually weeping. "Not that, and Charlotte too," he whispered.

"Shields are failing," Koran said desperately.

_Allura. Keith. We need you. _I_ need you..._

The Robeast, with a roar of triumph, watched as its stump of a right arm crashed into the eastern tower of the castle. The tower that housed Saran's family, that housed his mother, and his sis... he couldn't finish the thought. The tower that crumbled and crashed beneath the onslaught of the mangled thing that refused to quit.

_Lance?_ He heard Allura's voice in his mind. _We're coming, we're flying fast, but it's not good, I'm afraid...Keith's not conscious, and he's pretty banged up, and Black Lion is going to need repairs... _

"So no Voltron?" he asked, tears streaming down his face. Saran's team took desperate dives at the thing with their fighters, but still it swung, the eastern tower almost nothing but a pile of rubble now.

"No, I don't see how," Allura's voice flooded the cockpit, flooded everyone's comm. system. "And we're going to need Med Center up here as well, with a full trauma evac team, maybe two..." He noticed the edge of hysteria to her voice, then.

"That's going to be a problem, princess," Koran said. "We haven't been able to stop this Robeast, and it's not safe to land."

"No," Lance said, his mind suddenly latching onto a solution, maybe the only one. "Allura wants Med Center, she gets Med Center," he insisted, pulling Red Lion around the castle in a fast, sharp circle. He pulled up an infrared scan of the Robeast's body, looking for its heart, a pulsing mass of flesh, blood, and circuitry. _I love you, angel,_ he thought to Allura. "I love you too, Firecat," he said to Kiari. He cut off his comm. system entirely to the sound of Kiari's cry of alarm. _That'll teach her to give me stupid nicknames_, he thought, suddenly in a strangely good mood, determined to save the people and the planet he had come to love as best he could. Even though he had failed _her_...He increased his speed until he was flying Red as fast as he ever had, thinking about the nickname he had picked up here, the one he hated. Fireheart. He smiled bitterly, realizing, now, how much it fit him. Or was about to... And then he drove Red Lion, claws extended, jaws open, straight into the Robeast's electric heart at a speed that would have made Pidge's instrument panels explode. As its pulsing mass of flesh and metal exploded around him, he felt fire, real fire, all around him, all through him, and he felt himself falling down and backward, and he knew the creature had fallen with him, away from the castle, and then, after a pain so intense he could not even think it, he knew nothing but darkness.

VVVVV

"She's so good," Kiari marveled, holding the baby in the crook of her arm. "She's going to look just like him. Blue eyes and everything."

"I know," Allura agreed, peeking into her friend's arms. "She stayed so quiet when we fought the Leviathan that I thought she was drugged, or even _dead_, or something." She dangled a bit of ribbon in front of the child, who gurgled happily and reached for it.

"No," Kiari laughed, amused that her friend knew so little about little ones. "She's just very, very good. It stands to reason, too. Have you ever known anyone as easy-going as Nyle?"

Allura had to admit she hadn't. "He was even making cat jokes, in the middle if the fighting."

"Do you want to hold her?" Kiari offered.

"No," Allura said, a little regretfully. "Visiting to do."

Her friend nodded. "As do I. Let me give this little one over to the chaotic loving care of Saran's household, and I will join you." The red haired woman walked up the corridor, away from Med Center, holding the infant close and singing a low, tuneless lullaby. Allura's heart ached, watching her. She wished Dr. Gorma would allow infants in Med Center beyond certain hours. It did Nyle so much good to see Kate.

He was sitting up in bed, his shoulder wrapped in layers of gauze, a book in his hand that failed to absorb his attention. She always stopped in to see him first, because he was the least injured. They had leached the poison from his body with a combination of transfusions and omnibiotics, and his color was almost completely back to normal. He missed his daughter, and insisted she be with him whenever possible, caring for her mostly by himself. As Allura had suspected, he had the nurses all aflutter, this beautiful, injured, brooding man who so clearly loved and cared for his adorable baby daughter by himself. "It's kind of sickening, really," he told her. He liked peace and quiet, and couldn't understand what everyone found so fascinating about watching him hold a bottle for Kate.

"You're going to start a trend," she told him, laughing. "All the single guys around here are going to start carrying around babies. They're better than puppies for getting the girls." He frowned at her, clearly not wanting to 'get the girls,' or to think of his daughter on the same level as a puppy. But she knew, with his violet-blue eyes, long, sun-streaked hair, and aura of tragic romance, that he was going to have a hard time fighting them off. He truly had no idea how attractive he was. And what was even more amazing was that he didn't care.

He was easier to see because he was awake, and smiling, and she didn't love him like she did the other two. But she didn't stay long, tonight. Tonight, her heart pulled her onward.

Keith lay hooked up to a number of machines and monitors, swathed in bandages around his head, chest, and arms. He remained unconscious, his system pumped full of pain killing drugs. She knew he would hate that, but there was no help for it. With a concussion, an arm broken in two places, numerous cracked and broken ribs, a broken collarbone, and a myriad of internal injuries, which had been mostly fixed by now, thank goodness, there was simply no way to avoid pain meds.

She smiled at her big, tough soldier. It was easiest in here, because she loved him the most, and because she knew he was going to recover as soon as his bones mended, and be back to his old self. She had already had several confusing conversations with him, due to his head injury, but they were conversations nonetheless. She smiled, brushing his black hair out of his eyes. She kissed him gently on the lips, one of the few places he _wasn't _bandaged or bruised, before she left to face the most difficult part of her visits.

The room was always dark, no matter the time of day. A nurse was on guard at all times outside the door. She had a very short list of people who were allowed to visit on that list, and the nurse stuck to it strictly. No more than two people were allowed in the room at the same time, and this included Dr. Gorma. Allura nodded at the pretty young nurse before walking over to the large sink outside the room, scrubbing her hands for the required ten minutes, using a brush on her nails until her hands and arms felt raw. She slipped into a long sleeved coat that fell well past her knees and pushed into the small room where she waited for the computer to scan her for infectious microbes and the oxygen level in the chamber increased sharply. When the light in the room bathed her with a soft green glow, the door clicked open and she slipped inside. She did this several times a day, every day, and it was still hard not to cry when she saw him.

A rectangular tank sat in the exact middle of the room, filled with a cloudy fluid that Dr. Gorma told her was a mixture of omnibiotics, pain killers, and flesh reconstructing micro-organisms. Immersed completely in the fluid, tubes attached to his mouth and nose so that he could breathe, floated Lance, her knight in the battered leather jacket, who had flown his Lion into the heart of a Robeast to keep it from destroying their castle and their loved ones. It had worked, almost destroying him instead, covering over three quarters of his body with third degree burns and sending Red Lion to the repair bay for a very long time. Longer, even, than Black Lion. She wanted so badly to touch him, to hold him, but Dr. Gorma told her it could be days, maybe weeks, before he could leave the tank, and then there would be the reconstructive surgeries. Her hands formed into fists. _Damn Doom to hell and back_.

_Hey there_, came his gently fuzzy voice in her mind. She thought sometimes that it was more painful that he could talk to her, that he was awake in there somewhere throughout this whole painful process.

_Hey there back_, she thought, her eyes suddenly bright with tears.

_How is everybody_?

_Much the same_, she told him. _Keith is mending, but not really lucid. Nyle can't wait to get out of this place and find some romantic spot to brood..._

She felt his laughter in her mind. _Thanks for coming, Allura. I know it can't be easy._

That made her cry even harder. _You're worried that it's hard for me to _visit_, while you have to live here? For something I should have prevented? I should never have split the Force like that_...

_It wasn't just you, you know. I practically threw you two out the door..._

She was silent, caught between blushing and tears.

_I miss you, Lance. And I'm sorry._

_Don't be sorry, angel. I'd do it again, if I had to._ They sat for a while, thinking separate thoughts, before he asked the inevitable question. _Have they found her?_

_No, sweetheart, not yet. But they will. We will. We have every available resource on it, and so do many other planets, including Galaxy Garrison. Anyone with any ties to your family business is looking for her, and that's a lot of powerful people. We'll find her, and when we do, gods above help the poor bastards._

_No,_ he thought coldly. _He's mine. That bastard is mine, and this time, I'm going to finish it._

She shivered. _Well, you'd better hurry up and get better then. Besides, things are way too dull, without you around...I'm tired of winning at poker..._

VVVVV

She awoke to find her clothing gone, replaced by something thin, and a terrible knot throbbing at the base of her skull. She was flat on her back between silken sheets and some kind of heavy coverlet.

_Why is it so hard to move my arms? I feel like I'm crawling through honey...is it my head? Did I hit it?_ But she didn't think she was in Med Center. She had been there, many times, with her mother. It was bright there, and you wore hospital gowns, and people brought you juice.

She tried to move, to sit up, and couldn't. She moaned in frustration. She was so thirsty. She wanted to call out, to ask for something to drink, but it was hard, so hard...

Suddenly she felt the bed dip on one side as someone sat down beside her. Someone large. "How are you, my dear? Waking up at last?" the person asked. The words were polite, but there was something wrong with them. With the voice.

"Thirsty," she managed to whisper.

"Of course," said her companion. "How rude of me." Suddenly a smaller person was on the bed with her, on the other side, lifting her head gently, mindful of the injury, holding a large cup full of something that tasted like wine to her lips. She wanted water, but whatever it was, it was wet, so she drank greedily, almost sloppily. "Better?" her companion asked.

"Yes, thank you," she said.

"We'll have you dressed in something more...suitable...very soon, my lady. The rags in which you arrived...well, they simply won't do."

"I see," she said, although she didn't. She realized, suddenly, that she was laying in a bed with a total stranger perched beside her. She froze, as she always did when she was afraid or vulnerable.

"I'm afraid I must ask you something, something personal and perhaps uncomfortable," he said smoothly, for she had realized, to her mounting terror, that it _was_ a he. Hands that were pale in the darkness with manicured nails reached up and folded back the top of her coverlet and sheet, exposing the top part of her arms and her shoulders to the air. "Can you tell me who did this to you, my lady? Who gave you these injuries?" He reached under the coverlet and pulled out her arms so that they lay exposed as well, her wounds laid bare to his eyes, the rest of her carefully covered. She shook her head mutely _no_. "Ah, I see. You are ashamed to speak of it. Rest assured that I had the guard who abducted you killed for the crime. It was not his to commit. I had hoped your first such experience would be different, and certainly not involve a common criminal..."

She shook her head with difficulty, completely confused. "Abducted? Killed?" she whispered. "Who?" She took a deep breath. Something very strange and wrong was going on. "My mother did this to me," she whispered.

"Oh," he said, surprised. "Are you quite sure? The doctor did a _very_ thorough examination of you, my dear, and found evidence that such an...incident...had once occurred."

She was tired of being confused, so she struggled to sit up, only to fall back on the pillow immediately. "Where am I?" she demanded. "And what are you talking about? _What_ crime? Besides kidnapping me and drugging me?"

Her companion turned yellow slitted eyes on her, and she froze again. "My lady, you are on Planet Doom, and I am Crown Prince Lotor. The crime to which I am referring is the violation of your body, which I had hoped to reserve for my own exclusive use. Perhaps I had the wrong person killed..." he mused.

She laughed, short and bitter, surprising him. Doom. Prince Lotor. _There is nothing you can do to me_, she thought, _that hasn't already been done._ "Yes, you did have the wrong person killed."

"I see," he said, yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness. She felt his hands on her neck, squeezing suddenly. "It does little to lower your value, considering who you are, the ties you have, the ransom you will fetch, the revenge you will bring, but tell me, my lady, who was it?" He squeezed harder, and she found it hard to breathe.

She choked, and he released her throat slightly. When she told him, Lotor, Crown Prince of Doom, destroyer of planets and scourge of the Denubian Galaxy, almost felt sorry for her.


	8. Chapter 8: Night Blooms

Author's note: Thanks, everyone, for bearing with me. The project I was working on turned into a mushroom cloud, and I'm still getting things under control. I'm also at critical juncture with this arc of the story, so I had to slow down a bit and kind of feel my way through. Thanks to Rocky and Philip for their insight, as well, and all the rest of you who've sent support, reviews, suggestions, and "Where the heck is the next chapter?" messages. This chapter contains...I don't know what to call it, exactly. Creepy situations? Suggestive situations? Creepily suggestive situations? Situational suggestive creepiness? Oh, I give up. I never know what to do with Lotor. It's a pretty firm PG for mild violence and language as well.

Soundtrack: REM- Document and Dead Letter Office.

And all the usual disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Eight:

Night Blooms

Lotor watched her from his hidden spot on the balcony. He wasn't hiding, not exactly; he wasn't a voyeur. It simply didn't appeal to his tastes. He'd had his every whim indulged his entire life, and that meant harems full of women, willing or otherwise, of every kind. His preference for blondes was universally known, as was his desire for Princess Allura. Some called it an obsession. He leaned back against the dark stone wall of his balcony in Castle Doom. Perhaps it _was_ an obsession. He would have her, and she would bear him heirs. Princess Allura was _his_, she belonged to him, as a spoil of war, under Drule law. He regretted his rough treatment of her, sometimes, when he had removed her from the Castle of Lions, perhaps a bit too roughly. But Haggar and his father had convinced him to do it, and he'd had no way of knowing how disastrous the outcome would be. Not only had he traumatized her into an early awakening of her curious mental abilities, he had cemented a bond with _two_ formidable protectors. And they _were_ formidable. He had to admit this, even if only to himself, in his deepest heart of hearts.

And he held the sister of one of them prisoner, walking slowly beneath him, looking as if she were deep in thought, in his private gardens while he watched her from above. He watched from behind the cover of a creeping Tiger Vine while she roamed freely, within certain parameters, of course, pausing every now and then to examine a flower, or to peer at a fish as it leaped in one of the decorative ponds and fountains scattered throughout his gardens. She was not what he usually considered attractive. She was too plain, for one; she lacked the vivid coloring he preferred in his women. Her hair was a bit too short, reaching just below her shoulders, shorter, even, than his own, and it was the wrong color. In the eternal twilight that was all Doom had to offer in the way of natural lighting, her reddish-brown hair appeared washed out, as did her mild blue eyes.

He had seen images of her in the stronger sunlight of Earth and Arus. Hers was a type of beauty that bloomed in sunlight, the stronger lighting picking up the red in her hair, the glow in her eyes. Nor was she given to the use of cosmetics, or of elaborately styled hair. An aristocrat through and through, if she did not like something a slave brought her to wear, she sent it back with a dismissive shake of her head, continuing to do so until she found something that did please her. Her tastes seemed whimsical and eclectic. She preferred gowns from Arus and even Doom as much as she did those from Earth. He could find no discernable pattern to her taste. On the few occasions he had sent her something he insisted she wear, to dinner or an interrogation, she had done so with a shrug, as if she simply didn't care.

He had hit her across the face, with an open hand, that first night, at dinner. A mild blow, for him. It was the same room in which Allura had kissed him, and he could see himself doing it, his actions reflected back to him in the mirrors.

She held on to her fork, looking at him with mild annoyance.

"Tell me how they work, the shields on those fighters, or I'll do much worse than that," he growled, raising his fist this time.

She looked at him with shock, and inwardly, he gloated. _So soft, so easy. Just one strike, and she caves already_...

"Your majesty, _surely_ you were not raised to discuss business at the dinner table," she said, disapproval on her face. But not horror. Not fear.

He growled, hitting her again, with his fist this time, and then again and again, her head rocking back, her lip splitting open, bleeding.

Through it all, she held her fork steadily, her arm not moving, poised over her plate as if she was merely waiting for him to finish so she could resume eating.

She finally put her fork down. She was bruised and bleeding. He expected her to cry, to shrink from him, to plead for mercy. It was such a small thing he wanted to know. His technicians would find out soon anyway, from studying the L-22 that had been used in her kidnapping. This was more about establishing power.

"That was quite rude," she said mildly. "You've gotten blood all over my dress. And before the main course, too." She dabbed at her lip and resumed eating. "I must tell you, this wine is much too rich for this salad. You really should have words with your chef." For once, he was speechless.

He watched her with slitted eyes throughout the rest of the meal as the bruises deepened on her face, his appetite gone. She asked for coffee with her dessert. When the dishes were cleared, she asked if there was some other place they might discuss business. He stalked off to his gardens. She followed, the front of the sleeveless dress he'd sent her soaked with blood.

"Thank you for dinner," she said politely, smiling a little, as if she found the situation _amusing_. "I'm sorry my dress is such a mess. The shields work by a process known as cohesive molecular disintegration..."

She was an enigma. She was the only woman he had ever encountered who was not afraid of him. He didn't know what to make of it. She responded to his threats, even to actual violence, with a kind of indifference, as if she had seen it all before, and found it all rather boring. Nor was it because her spirit was broken; far from it. He had broken women before, and knew what that looked like, and this was not the case with her. She even laughed at him, as if she found his efforts amateurish, even _common_. And so, his threats and violence were gradually breaking down. They got him nowhere. He remembered that first night of her arrival, when she had lain, powerless and drugged while he loomed over her, covered with marks of the kind of violence he rarely dealt out to his harem girls, the kinds of wounds that made stronger men howl, but she laughed, _actually laughed_, when he told her what he planned to do to her. He remembered the marks, the gouges, the bruises, and shook his head. She had _laughed_. In fact, she laughed at him a lot, and why he had not killed her for it disturbed him deeply. And now she stood below him, oblivious to his observations, picking flowers in her shimmering white gown, from Arus, today, as bright as diamonds, as bright as stars.

She paused to pluck a single white flower, almost glowing against the darkness, before inhaling deeply and tucking it behind one ear. He frowned. He would have to warn her about that. None of the flowers in his gardens were deadly, but that was not the case in every garden in his father's castle.

Unlike Princess Allura, he had no real claim on this young woman under Drule law. He had never been at war with her planet. Doom had yet to take the bold step of declaring open war on Earth, the seat of the Galactic Alliance and Galaxy Garrison itself. He could not claim her as a spoil of war or as restitution for a blood feud. His only possible claim to ownership of her lay with his hatred toward the Red Lion pilot, who had destroyed his private compound and made off with the princess, _his_ princess. But that was a shaky claim, at best. The Red Lion pilot had been legally disinherited long ago, and Drule law would not recognize mere bonds of affection as just cause. What he had done was simple kidnapping.

He could simply take her any time he wished, of course. He was guilty of worse crimes. But despite what others believed, he did have something resembling an ethical code. It would never do to let that fact get out, of course. But it was true, nonetheless, and this young woman, despite her relationship to the loathed Red Lion pilot, was an aristocrat and still a girl, although barely. She would be seventeen soon, the legal age of consent in her home country, and then he could follow through with his plan without violating any of her planet's laws.

He had not announced his possession of her, had not demanded any ransom, and had not even made an attempt to gloat to her loathsome brother. That was eventually a part of his plan, _after_ he succeeded in making her his legal concubine, which would make her possessions, including her powerful company, with its ties to nearly every planet in the Alliance, his. In turn, he would acknowledge any children of the union as his and they would be princes and princesses of Doom, but would not inherit. That was Allura's job, of course. Lotor would then be able to make demands and put pressure on the Alliance through simple negotiations and threats, rather than brute force, which had always been his father's only solution. He would have unfettered access to the most advanced technology in the galaxy, and would bring Doom out from under its archaic reliance on the old magics. His father lacked subtlety and did not realize that his old strategies were beginning to fail him. Lotor was more forward-thinking. This girl was the key to him becoming a force to be reckoned with, more powerful, even, than his father. He would cement a contract with her that was legally air-tight in every way, but for now he was determined to figure out _why_ he failed to frighten her into immediate submission.

He growled, aware he was rationalizing. The girl was making him soft, making him weak, and he knew why. He had no idea how much he loathed his own father until she had begun to speak to him, frankly and honestly, as if they were friends or equals, about her own. Perhaps she had accepted her fate, embraced the fact that she might die here, as he had threatened, and decided she had nothing to lose. He had always assumed his wish to see Zarkon dead was simply his desire for the throne. But perhaps it was more complicated than that. He growled again, low and deep so that she could not hear him with her weak human ears. _I should have her tortured, by someone who would show no mercy. I should demand ransom, or an exchange for her brother, or the Black Lion pilot, or the princess herself. Allura is soft-hearted enough that she might actually do it, but the others would stop her first, of course. I should lock her up. I should starve and whip her. She is dangerous to me. I grow soft..._ He could not afford weakness.

She was strolling slowly back to the quarters he had assigned her, lavish ones that were near his own and were typically reserved for favored mistresses and harem slaves. The white flower glowed against her straight, shiny hair. She stopped then, turning her light eyes up towards his hidden spot in the eternal twilight. She smiled crookedly, even sadly, up at him, pulling a hidden black orchid from the folds of her shimmering white skirts. He had not seen her pick it, and that bothered him, as did many things about her. "I picked this for you," she called up, softly, laughing. At him. Again. Internally, in the face of her laughter, he warred between rage and embarrassment. How _had_ she known he was up here? _How dare_ she laugh at him? _Spy_ on _him_, when it was supposed to be the other way around? Was she taunting him, Lotor, the Crown Prince of Doom? Why didn't he just throw her into the Pit of Skulls, and to hell with her damned corporation, her brother, her wealth and power and connections?

Later, when she was safely locked away in her rooms, he left his quarters, needing a stroll in his gardens, to pace moodily and think about things. There, laid carefully across his threshold, where he would be sure to see it, was the black orchid. He picked it up, as angry as he was surprised, and crushed it underneath his boot. He was the Crown Prince of Doom. No one gave him flowers.

VVVVV

She leaned against the door, locked within the quarters she had been given. Her rooms were lavish, even garish, beyond belief, obviously meant for some kind of highly skilled, well compensated courtesan. She hoped he did not expect that of her, for he would be sorely disappointed, but she did not think she would be that lucky. Why he had not done so already was a mystery to her. He was alternately violent and watchful, as if he was studying some kind of new creature, and was not yet sure how to proceed. She sank down against the door in relief. It was exhausting, keeping up her facade of disinterested acceptance. But she was a good actress, a consummate poker player, the very best she knew. Lance had not been able to beat her at the game since she was eight years old, and he was rumored to be the best ever. At least it was over, for the moment. Until he summoned her again, to threaten her, strike her, frighten her into giving him information, or, perhaps even more disturbing to them both, to listen to her.

She frequently found herself talking in his presence, about her father, her childhood, of all things. She knew she had hit upon a subject he found sickly fascinating, and she played it for all it was worth. Her confessions were strategic in part. She could not spill important secrets while she talked of other things. But there was another reason as well.

She fully expected the Crown Prince of Doom to kill her or to torture and damage her until she was a useless husk of a human, as soon as she had served his purposes, even though she still did not know what those might be. She knew he was keeping her presence here as secret as he could, and that frightened her. He frightened her. Her confessions helped hide her fright. He was like an animal that way. If he smelled fear, he struck. To show fear would mark her as prey. She was not yet ready for that. She owed it to her brother, owed him one last thing, the only thing, she realized now, that he wanted from her. For her to be whole.

_You think I need a therapist_, she had accused him, remembering her last encounter with him.

His eyes had been so lost, so sad, so guilty. _I just want you to be ok_, he said.

She sighed. There were no therapists on Doom, and she was probably going to die here, and soon. So she did her best to unburden herself, a step towards putting things behind her, and if that meant feeding the Prince of Doom's sick fascinations, then so be it. At least it was out. It was helping keep her alive. And she felt strangely lighter for it.

She laughed, her dress a glittering puddle on the floor around her. And then she found herself laughing hysterically, laughing so hard that she was crying, too. The slave girls assigned to her stared at her in confused horror. She thought of Lance again. He had a saying, growing up. _What the devil hates most is being laughed at_. He was so right about that. Lotor was the devil, and she laughed at him, teased him, played with him as best she could. It was a dangerous game, but she was still alive. For now.

VVVVV

Allura pulled back on the control bar of Blue Lion, positioning the machine for a fast vertical climb.

"Are you with me, team?" she asked, although only half the team was present. She wouldn't, couldn't, let that stop her, or any of them, for that matter. Keith and Lance would recover, and soon, she hoped, and when they did, they would not find them lacking, or out of practice.

"Ready, Allura," Hunk said, coming up fast behind her at her four.

"Me too," Pidge said from her seven. The Green Lion pilot had been even quieter than usual lately. The smallest thing was enough to set him off into a fit of uncharacteristic rage. She knew why, too. He disagreed vehemently with the rest of them about Charlotte. If it were up to him, all three Lions would be on Doom right now, storming the castle, dragging her out by force, leaving the Castle of Lions undefended when it was at its weakest in months. She sighed. It simply wasn't possible. Two of the Force were still grounded, and only Black Lion had been repaired enough to fly. Red Lion was close, but wasn't quite there yet. And all five of them, the entire Voltron Force, Pidge included, knew what had happened the last time they'd split the Force. They were still paying for it. She would not make the same mistake again. _Be a team again, be whole again, and then we'll go and get her..._

They could not even be sure Charlotte _was_ on Doom, not for certain. Lotor, if he had her, had made no public claim of that fact, nor had he even called to gloat. It was strange. _I'd think he would at least try to arrange some kind of exchange, for me or Keith or Lance..._ But then, who else could it be? Galaxy Garrison, the Alliance, and McClain Corp. itself had some of their best agents on it, trying to ferret out her location, and so far, nothing. She had ordered every single member of McClain Corp. remaining on Arus confined to their quarters while undergoing interrogation, but none of them had any useful information, nor had she had uncovered any spies. Yet. She was determined to keep trying, but in the meantime, she had doubled up on Lion practice, and had them conferencing afterward.

They'd been having working breakfasts and even lunches, going over Voltron's new weapons systems, upgrades to the three functional Lions, and plans to upgrade Black and Red Lions while they were under repair. It had been Hunk who suggested compiling all available information on previous Robeasts unleashed on Arus for as far back as anyone could remember. "Robeast lessons," he jokingly called them. As a result, they had a growing body of knowledge that she hoped could help them deal with new attacks. If they could identify Robeast features and strategies while under attack, then perhaps they could match them up with previous attacks and use what had worked in the past. It was step, an innovative one, and she was impressed with Hunk's adaptive intelligence. _No more falling asleep at the wheel_, she thought, pleased with the new Earth expression.

"All right, team, we're going to break that record Lance set when he flew into that Robeast's heart," she promised. "If Red Lion can fly that fast, we all can, so let's do it!" All three Lions flew, fast and furious, upward in the same formation they would hold when forming Voltron. Never mind that there was no Voltron to form. _We'll be ready_, Allura vowed. _When Keith and Lance come back, and when Doom comes calling again_...

VVVVV

Kiari stood outside the door of his room in Med Center, trying to gather her courage. It was hard to go in and see him for a number of reasons, and she cursed herself inwardly, for being a coward and a liar. It was a deep game she played with him, coming to say goodbye without actually saying it, and he was very good at games. She knew. She had already lost several games of chance to him, ones that she had been playing since she was a small child that he had just been taught. She smiled. She had to add "worthy opponent" to the growing list of things she loved about him. But if he knew what she planned, he would forbid her going, even though she was doing it for him. He would say it was his place to rescue his own sister. She agreed with him, except that he was in no position to do so right now. And she had been there, in the corridor with the guard who had turned traitor, and ignored her instincts that screamed at her that something was not right. She had failed him and his sister too. She would remedy that, or die trying.

She sighed. Saran wasn't going to be happy with her, either. Hopefully, he would see reason, and forgive her, eventually.

She knocked softly before entering.

"Come in," he called. "Unless you come bearing new nicknames."

She smiled and slipped in to see her Red Lion pilot, grateful for his gift of humor. She stood against the door, her crossed arms hugging her tightly. This was the other reason, the reason it was hard to come here, even though part of her wanted to be here every moment of the day. This was why she was a coward. She could hardly bear to see him in so much pain.

Lance was propped up in bed, wearing a loose hospital robe, swathed in gauze and what looked to be sheets of Derma Gen patches. The translucent patches covered the burned areas and allowed Dr. Gorma to monitor the healing process. The top layer protected Lance's healing skin from the outside world, while the bottom layer, made of collagen fibers, acted as a lattice that encouraged the growth of new dermal cells and had a topical analgesic as well. It helped with the pain slightly. As a result, his still-healing burns were visible, and they weren't pretty. Not that she cared about his appearance. His burns were a sign of his bravery. He had been willing to die for his people. Among her own people, this marked him as a hero more surely than any medal. But she could tell how much pain he was in, how much pain that single act of bravery caused him. Most of his body was covered with gauze, but almost half his face was covered only with the Derma Gen patches, and she could see where his lips were cracked and blistered, where blackened skin was fading to white, and, thankfully, a healthier pink in some areas. He _was_ healing, but her fiery lion was caged in a hospital bed, for now. _At least he's out of that tank_, she thought.

"Hey there, beautiful," he said softly, smiling half a smile, which was all he could manage. Her heart broke for him. Again.

She seated herself on his good side, as he called it, scooting up next to him in the hospital bed. "Hey there yourself," she said, planting a careful kiss on the side of his mouth. She ran her fingers lightly through his cropped reddish-brown hair. It had been partially burned off, and they had shaved the rest of it during surgery. It had grown back a little since then, and he laughed that it would definitely meet Garrison Regulations now. "They are trying to break the record you set, and they cannot," she told him, snuggling up against him. She buried her head against his chest, inhaling his scent, committing it to memory. This was something she had done with no other. Snuggle. He pulled her closer with his "good" arm.

"Allura and the others?" he asked, a bit sleepily. He had an I.V. that fed him fluids and pain killers. She knew he hated those, but there was no help for it.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Heh. Good luck with that," he said, eyes half-closed. "But I want to talk about you, not suicidal death dives."

"I want to talk to you, too," she said, ignoring his black humor. "I want to talk about us."

That got his full attention, and he struggled to sit up, to shake off the haze of the painkillers. "What about us?" he asked. "Has something happened?" They were both worried about what might happen if her guardian found out about them, and Lance especially didn't want to bring any kind of dishonor on her. Or have Saran separate his head from his body... He knew her customs were vastly different than his, and he would do whatever he needed to do to keep that from happening. Anything. She knew all this, but it was her wish to keep it secret, for now.

"Nothing except that my desire for you grows stronger the longer you are confined," she whispered into his ear. He shivered.

"Me too," he concurred, relaxing. _No head separation for me today...although it might feel better than these burns..._ "Then what's on your mind, Kia?"

She had moved her hand and was stroking his chest now, lightly. "Just that I love you, Lance McClain. I have never felt for another the feelings I have for you. When you cut off your comm. system, and I realized what you meant to do, I almost died myself. When you... when you... exploded..." She was crying now, and couldn't finish her sentence. She hated herself for it, but she could not stop. "When they pulled your body from the wreck... and you were so burned, I thought..." as she sobbed she felt his arm around her tighten. "I thought you were dead," she whispered hoarsely. "And I wondered how I could live without you, without your smile, your laughter, your loyalty and your fiery heart." She found that she was still crying. His hospital gown was soaked. "I just wanted to tell you that I am very glad I do not have to find out."

Lance was almost shocked speechless. He had never once seen her cry. And here she was, crying over _him_? He tried to pull her to him. It was awkward with one hand, but he tried. "I love you too, Kia," he said softly. "I wish you wouldn't cry. I'm here, I'm here for you, and I'm not going anywhere. Please, don't cry." It didn't work, though. She cried even more, so he just held her, and kept murmuring, over and over, that it was ok, he loved her, it would be alright, and eventually she sat up with red-rimmed eyes.

She looked at him intensely, as if memorizing his face. "There is something I want you to have," she told him, and pulled something on a long leather cord from somewhere. It was a medallion, and it was marked with strange writing. He squinted at it with his one good eye. "It belonged to my eldest brother. I want you to have it." Her eyes were still wet as she offered it to him, and he was afraid she was going to start crying again. She wrapped it around his wrist because half his neck was still healing. "It means something like kinship," she said as she wrapped. She looked at him, helpless for words. "Not a token of betrothal, or an open declaration that we are..." She always blushed when she said the word. "Lovers. But it is something like that..."

Lance smiled, not completely sure what she was trying to tell him. He could tell that it was important to her, though, and he wanted to make her smile, now that he had made her cry. "I think on Earth we might call it a promise ring," he said.

"Yes!" she said, relieved. "Exactly that. A promise. Between kindred hearts..." Her hands shook as she finished the knot. This was the tricky part. This token made him her literal kin, according to her customs. She was honor bound, with his acceptance of it, to avenge any wrongs done to him, because they were now wrongs done to her as well. The kidnapping of his sister would officially be her business too. "So," she said, not looking at him. "You do freely accept my gift?"

"Of course," he said, puzzled by her sudden formality.

She relaxed. "Do not take it off, Lance McClain. It is more important than you know." She was smiling again, and she leaned forward to kiss him. He deepened the kiss, his one hand caressing the side of her cheek.

But she pulled away suddenly, regretfully. "I have to go, Lance," she said. "I have a task that can no longer wait." _And if I stay any longer, I might not be able to let myself leave._

_Such a short visit? She usually stays longer. Did I do something wrong_? He wondered. "Come see me soon, then?"

"As soon as I am able. And then, _Lancelot_ McClain, I will be staying a _very_ long time. You had best rest while you can." She grinned impishly at him while his heart did little flips in his chest, and then she walked out of the room to prepare herself to single-handedly infiltrate Castle Doom.

VVVVV

"Pidge, you're hitting with ninety-eight percent accuracy. That's fantastic, and you know it. I think we can call it a day, now," Allura told him, her weary voice flooding the cockpit of Green Lion. It was the end of their second practice of the day, and everyone was tired.

He bit back a snarl. _She wants to quit, and she's the one who just took a beach vacation..._

He knew he was being unfair. Allura had _needed_ to go, and by all accounts, it was hardly a vacation. And none of them could have known what it was going to cost them. The castle destroyed, two Lions down, Lance and Keith in Med Center, almost half their fledgling Air Assault Force sabotaged, possible spies in the castle, and..._she_ was gone. Taken. By a monster. And they weren't going after her because they _technically_ couldn't prove it? But even that was unfair. _What are we going to do? Storm Castle Doom with only three Lions? It would be a suicide mission. And leave Arus unprotected too._

"Run it again," he said in the new tone of flat rage he'd discovered within himself.

"Pidge," Hunk said, the warning clear in his voice. "You need to leave something over so the rest of us will have something to shoot at in the morning. You can't be hogging all the targets, Little Buddy," he said, trying to lighten the mood. He knew how enraged his young friend was these days. He knew he was blaming everyone and everything for what had happened, especially himself. Pidge was inches from exploding, all the time now.

"Run it again, dammit!" Pidge yelled, furious. Allura blinked in surprise. She had never heard the Green Lion pilot curse before. "Or don't any of you care about this planet anymore, and the people on it? Or are you still too busy chasing magic and falling "in love" with each other to notice that _we're completely and totally screwed_ _without Voltron_? Am I the only one who cares about that, the only one who wants to be able to form Voltron when Zarkon crawls out from under his rock next time..."

Allura gasped, her cheeks flaming. "Pidge!" _ How does he know? Does everyone know?_ _About Keith and me?_

"Easy there, Little Buddy," Hunk added, shocked himself. He'd been expecting an outburst, but wow...

"No, you are not the only one who cares about this planet, Pidge, as you well know, and yelling and insulting your teammates is not the way to show you care," Keith said coldly, Black Lion flying under Green Lion in an arc that brought the two machines almost nose to nose.

Allura's heart soared. "Keith! What are you doing out of Med Center?"

"What are you doing in the _air_?" Hunk seconded, his jaw hanging open. "You got banged up bad, buddy. Are you sure..."

"That I should be flying?" Keith said, finishing Hunk's sentence for him. "No, I probably shouldn't, but given the situation, I can't afford not to." He bit back a groan as his injuries screamed at him to get back in bed, that _any_ bed would do... "But we've got to be able to form the big guy, and soon. We can only half-ass defend our own planet without him, so there's no way we're going after Lance's sister until we _can_ form Voltron."

"But it's been _days_!" Pidge yelled. "Days and days that she's been with that monster... Lance would be there already, if he could move..."

"Lance _will_ be there, as soon as he can move, with the big guy for back up, and if I know Lance, he's going to bolt from Med Center as soon as he can, so we'd better get sharp _now_, soldier," Keith said coldly. Their youngest team member needed to let out some aggression, and he needed some flight time, himself... "Allura, Hunk, you're dismissed. Pidge, I need some combat practice. I'm a bit rusty, and you seem like you need a good dog fight."

"Cat fight, _commander_," Pidge almost snarled.

Keith could actually hear the grin in Hunk's voice. "No offense, Keith, but this is something I _have_ to see."

"Yes, um...Hunk and I were going to...um..." Allura racked her brain for a suitable excuse. "check some things out..." she finished lamely.

Keith sighed. "Run the targets again, then, both of you. Just stay out of our way, and enjoy the show. I have a feeling Dr. Gorma is waiting in docking bay to throw me _under_ the brig when we get back, so we better make this count..."

"Not if I get you first," Pidge promised with a hint of dark humor.

_Good,_ Keith thought. _He doesn't sound quite so crazy mad_.... Out loud, he said, "Bring it on, Green boy," as Pidge came at him with claws and jaws and everything else he could think of. _Wow, he really is mad_, Keith thought, pulling Black upward in a fast spiral, evading phantom rockets and laser fire, to escape his youngest, and usually most mild-mannered, teammate's fierce attack. Keith had a feeling there would be plenty of Pidge's rage leftover for Zarkon.


	9. Chapter 9: Picking up the Pieces

Author's note: Once upon a time there was a mega chapter named simply "eight," but it grew and grew, threatening to become the greediest chapter of all time, consuming every bit of its creator's time and attention, forcing her to neglect her family and responsibilities, until one day it became chapters eight, nine, and ten. This is the middle chapter, squashed between two louder sibling chapters, and it has been the best mannered of the three, if not the most exciting or the easiest to write. Thanks to my readers and reviewers for putting up with my nonsensical scribblings, and enjoy. Oh, and more of the same warnings as last chapter.

Playlist: Robert Earl Keen. Can you believe it? I've been grounded from all my favorite alternative country. Calexico, Neko, Ryan Adams, Iron & Wine... Got told it was making me maudlin... It sucks. Alt. country forever!

All the usual disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron...

Chapter Nine:

Picking up the Pieces

As night fell over Planet Arus, a black-clad figure with two swords strapped across its back like wings moved through the hangars, keeping to the shadows. The two unfortunate guards on duty found themselves bound, gagged, and sedated by two quick shots to the arm in a matter of seconds. The figure punched in an override code to the security system and another to one of the functional stealth fighters. Within minutes, the cloaked fighter was in the air, leaving Arus's atmosphere on a course straight for Planet Doom.

VVVVV

Charlotte McClain didn't recognize the person who stared back at her in the mirror. She wasn't used to looking so..._mature_. She dressed simply and used few cosmetics. She wore her hair in a straight, easy style. A few times, growing up on Earth, she had been forced to dress up for some formal or official occasion, with full makeup, stylist, and cutting-edge Earth fashions, which, for girls her age, were almost always embarrassingly short and clingy. To her surprise, she drew alarming amounts of male attention at such occasions. She was plied with drinks, snacks, offers to dance, or to walk in the gardens, comm. numbers, and other things that made her blush and stammer and want to hide behind her mother. She hated it. But she wondered if she was in for something even more alarming tonight as she sat still for the slave girls. _At least it will be just the one, no matter how alarming_, she thought, trying to cheer herself up. It wasn't working.

They had lined her eyes and dusted her eyelids with gold, no doubt the real thing. Her lips were a painstakingly painted scarlet, and she had been massaged, _everywhere_, with a cream that made her skin subtly luminous in the eternal twilight that was Planet Doom. It helped cover the scars on her arms and shoulders, which had almost faded entirely...almost. They had spent even more time on her hair, curling it and piling it on the top of her head until it framed her face like a waterfall, gathered back with a band of diamonds and gold across her forehead. She hadn't seen the dress he'd selected, but she knew it was going to be alarming in some way, because she stood in front of the mirror in a corset laced so tightly it was hard to breathe, and a full underskirt that reached down to her ankles. It changed her shape in strange ways, making her much...curvier...than she really was... _What I wouldn't give for some jeans and a t-shirt._

"You look ravishing," he smirked from the doorway. "Perhaps I won't give you this dress after all."

She betrayed no surprise, frozen on the outside as always. But inwardly she shook. _Is this it? Is tonight the night? Dear god, please..._

"I didn't know you had to sink so low as to spy on _girls_ in their dressing rooms, your majesty," she said evenly, emphasizing the word "girl" ever so slightly. Her best guess was that her status as a minor had somehow kept him at bay, had put off what she knew was inevitable...

"I don't see a girl," he whispered in her ear, suddenly behind her. He smelled like musk and leather. If he expected her to shiver in delight, he was disappointed. _I have this frozen thing down cold, blue boy_, she thought, to steady herself. "I see a beautiful woman who reaches her legal age of consent at midnight tonight." Her blood froze. _Is it my birthday already? It can't be..._ There were no clocks, no chronometers. It was always twilight here. Time had slipped and blurred into one long ordeal, and she had only a vague idea at best how much time had passed since she'd been here. She just didn't know... _This is going to be the worst birthday ever_...

He produced a heavy diamond and sapphire necklace and proceeded to fasten it around her neck. "I must admit, I've enjoyed our time together more than I thought I would. You have been a stimulating companion, my lady." His fingers moved lightly down her ears before attaching matching earrings. She stood there steadily, wearing nothing but uncomfortable underwear and a small fortune in jewelry, when the Prince of Doom produced the dress at last, sliding the shimmering, almost blindingly bright blue material over her head and arms, which she held up for him woodenly. Strapless, it hugged her breasts and corset-tightened waist snugly before flaring into a full skirt.

"Shoes," he snapped. A slave hurried forward, and she found herself stepping into impossibly high, arched heels. He sighed happily, looking at her as he might a fine painting. "I knew it was only a matter of light," he said to himself. His comment made no sense to her. He took her left hand and gently wrapped a heavy sapphire bracelet around it. "Perfect," he said. "But what do you think?" he asked, spinning her around to face the mirror once more.

"I don't know," she admitted. The woman in the mirror was _beautiful_, and displayed cleavage that would have gotten her instantly grounded at home, or would have made Lance have to punch someone...

"The jewels are a trifle, an early present, but your true gift is waiting at dinner." He offered his arm, which she forced herself to take. _I'll fall flat on my face if I don't_...

He seemed genuinely happy to see her, and chatted affably throughout the meal. She ate little, unable to fight the growing fear that her luck had run out. After dinner, he had a slave bring her a packet of papers, tied together with a red silk ribbon. She looked up at him, confused, as he loomed over her, pouring her a huge glass of wine. "I know you hate to discuss business at the table, my dear, but I like to think of this as business _and _pleasure." He gestured to the papers. "Go ahead. Open them. Read."

She took them from him with a steady hand, proud of herself for not yet revealing her inner terror. But as she read through them, the pit of ice in her stomach grew. "This is a contract...of... to make me..." She looked up at him, horrified. She couldn't say the word. "I didn't know such a thing _existed_," she breathed. "Is it legal?"

He laughed, forcing the wine into her hand. "Of course. I forget how sheltered you are. It's so...charming. Let me assure you, it is not only completely legal, upon your birthday tonight, but quite an honor. A first for me. It would give me complete control of your company, of course, but it's a position of honor, for you, and any of our offspring would be raised as princes and princesses of Doom." He took a huge drink, smiling at her. His yellow eyes suddenly seemed to have a tint of orange, just a hint of insanity. "You would be my first official concubine, my lady. A position comparable to second or third wife, actually, on your own Earth, for those cultures that practice such things. It is no small thing."

"I should hope not," she said, shocked. She was suddenly having trouble breathing, and he noticed. He moved towards her, perhaps to attempt to help her in some way, but the last thing she wanted was his hands on her right now. She held up a hand. "The corset," she gasped, and he nodded. She forced herself to breathe more slowly. It gave her time to _think_. _Think, Charlotte, think._ She decided to ignore the implications of offspring, of what that meant. She simply couldn't deal with that right now. "Complete control of my company? What makes you think I would ever agree to such a thing?"

He shook his head sadly. "I had hoped you might not be troublesome, my lady. In fact, this offer is the best present I have to give you. I had even thought you might recognize it for the honor that it is ... but of course not. You are sheltered, you have had bad experiences. Of course you don't trust me. Of course you are hesitant. It is only natural that you need some extra... persuasion, so I prepared another little surprise for you." He drained his glass and forced hers into her hand. She held it limply. At a clap of his hands, two huge Drule guards dragged a petite blond woman into the room. Her hands and feet were bound together with chains, and she was gagged. Her wide blue eyes seemed to plead with Charlotte from across the room, her hair wild, her clothing torn and dirty. Charlotte gasped. _How can it be? How did he get his hands on her? _At a nod from Lotor, one of the Drule guards produced a whip and, throwing the woman face first onto the floor, prepared to lay into her back. Charlotte cried out, because the blond woman was none other than Princess Allura herself. The princess cringed, bracing herself for the blows...

"No!" Charlotte screamed as she stood, scattering the papers all around her, dropping her goblet, soaking pages with wine. "No! I don't know how you did this, Lotor, but I'll sign. I'll sign anything. Just stop. Don't hurt her!" She started crying. "Please, please tell me, do you have them all?" Her hands shook as she threw herself on him, grabbing his shirt. "Do you have my brother too?" she whispered.

He looked at her, his eyes still tinted orange, and there was satisfaction in them. And something like relief. "I knew there had to be something. Some way to get through to you. You care so little for your own well being. I thought perhaps another's pain might move you. I am so glad it was not solely violence against your person, my lady." He almost whispered his last sentence, and then he smirked. "I was right." Princess Allura looked at her, bound and gagged, blue eyes pleading, struggling to speak, from her position on the floor beneath the Drule guard's raised whip.

Wordlessly, he handed her a pen, and her signature on the line he showed her was big and messy because she could not see through her tears. When she was finished, he held her against his shirt. "You are such an enigma. You care nothing for your own safety, yet you care a great deal for your friends. You did the right thing." He gestured to the guards, who dragged Princess Allura away, her wide blue eyes still pleading. "As for the Red Lion pilot, his fate depends largely on _your_ behavior. But it seems you have decided to be good. I am glad." He pulled her chin up, her face upturned towards his. "Happy Birthday, Charlotte," he told her, before planting a single, gentle kiss on her lips.

VVVVV

Princess Romelle of Pollux relaxed slightly as the guards dragged her from Lotor's dining room. _As much as anyone can relax on Planet Doom_, she thought grimly. When they had thrown her down and raised the whip, she was sure she was in for it, but the pretty young girl in the blue gown had said or done something to save her. Romelle was grateful. She didn't know who she was, or what terrible twist of fate had brought her to Castle Doom and to Lotor's personal attention, but she was grateful to be saved from one more beating. The guards removed her gag as they threw her into her cell. They didn't need it anymore. She had learned not to scream by now. No one was coming to help her.

VVVVV

Lance McClain was having a nightmare.

In his nightmare, he was trying to grow new skin and it had come out _pink_. _Allura's going to laugh her ass off_, he thought.

He had been someone's pet fish. He didn't know who.

Even worse, someone had cut off all his hair. _Probably Keith_, he thought, in his dream. _For revenge for something I've done, or he thinks I've done._ He thought about that for a minute. _Nah, whatever it was, I did it...and he'll just say he was observing Garrison regulations..._

But worst of all, a black clad figure stood at the bottom of his bed, its arms crossed as it stared at him. _Whoever that is, they look mighty pissed off... _Then he noticed the swords crossed on the person's back like angel's wings, and he was disappointed to find out that angels looked like Saran.

_Saran._

_Oh, shit._

He sat up slowly when he realized he was _not_ having a nightmare, but living one, and tried to shake off the haze from the painkillers they'd been feeding him since they brought him here.

"Saran," he said, or tried to say, as he struggled to sit up straight. His new skin bent and stretched in places as he moved, and the pain helped shock him awake. The Derma Gen patches held, though, so nothing was bleeding or torn. Just screaming at him.

"You look as if a Hell Beast had you for breakfast and found you disagreeable," Saran remarked mildly. He remained standing at the foot of Lance's bed, arms crossed, swords at the ready, his ever-present frown on his face.

"Unh. Nice to see you, too," Lance mumbled. "Are you here to separate my head from my body?" he asked, almost hopefully. He was hurting _bad_.

Saran laughed. Lance started to wonder if he was dreaming again. He had never heard the old man laugh. He didn't know the old man _could_ laugh.

"Do you at least have any coffee?" Lance asked pathetically. If Saran was going to kill him, or he was going to die of pain, he wanted some coffee first...

Miraculously, the old desert warrior stepped out in the hall and stopped the first nurse he saw with a single scowl. She almost dropped her datapad as she scurried off to fill his request. Moments later, she returned with coffee and a full breakfast tray. Saran, standing by the door, took it from her himself, uncovered the tray of food and inspected it with a frown. He sat it down in front of Lance. "I am afraid it is hospital food," he announced. "Which makes sense, as we are in a hospital. I shall have Ana send some of her rolls. Although I hear that the new Water Mage makes good rolls, as well."

Lance grabbed at his coffee before it disappeared in a mirage. Saran was being _nice_ to him. Maybe he was in an alternate dimension, if he wasn't dreaming... Or maybe it was desert law to be nice to a person before you cut off their head. Kind of like your last meal in prison...

"Saran," he choked out, the coffee burning his singed throat. "What are you doing here? Not that I don't appreciate the visit, mind you. It's just a little unexpected. Usually Kiari is with you." He looked around. "Where is she, by the way? She said she was coming by..." He trailed off, cursing his stupidity, realizing who he was talking to. _Damn painkillers_.

Saran scowled again, and Lance felt suddenly comforted by the familiar expression. "I have raised four teenage daughters, Lance McClain. I recognize the signs. I just didn't know she felt so strongly." He looked at Lance very, very intently. "Or that her choice might turn out to be a good one. I was blind, and I am a fool. But perhaps you can help me set it right."

"Uhh, ok," Lance said slowly. He was very, very confused. "How can I do that?"

A long knife appeared suddenly in the older man's hands. He sat at the bedside, looking it over closely for nicks and scratches. "I have two questions for you, Lancelot McClain, pilot of the Red Lion," he said.

"Ok," Lance said slowly, again. It was a pretty big knife...

"What are your intentions towards my foster-daughter?"

Lance gulped. "Whatever she wants them to be," he said as Saran pulled out a small stone and began sharpening his knife.

Saran shook his head. "Try again," he ordered.

Lance sighed. "What do I want for Kiari? I want to make her smile, and laugh, and do whatever it takes to make her green eyes do that thing they do... you know how they seem to dance sometimes?" Saran smiled at his knife. "And I want her to be safe, but still herself, to do what she wants, but to protect her if I can. If she'll let me," he added dryly. Saran smiled again. "I want her to tease me, and keep giving me embarrassing nicknames, and leaving me with nothing to say back. I want her to be fierce and deadly and friendly and kind..."

"Enough already. You young men and your sentiments make me grateful I have not yet had my breakfast," the old warrior said.

_His knife must be awfully sharp by now_, Lance thought. "Well, you asked," he huffed. "And your second question?"

Saran was up and in his face so fast he didn't see him move. All traces of a smile, of any humor, were gone. One hand gripped Lance's good wrist, the other tapped the medallion Kiari had wrapped around it with the tip of his very sharp knife. "Tell me what she said when she gave that to you," he snarled.

Lance kept his wrist, and his gaze, very steady. "She said she loved me. That she couldn't think of life without me. That she wanted me to wear this, that it had belonged to her eldest brother, and was a sign of the kinship between us. She asked me if I accepted it, if I understood, and I said yes, of course, I'd be honored to wear it, and that it sounded like what we on Earth call a promise ring, a promise between two kindred hearts." Saran let go of his wrist and sank back down in his chair, swearing softly. "Why?" Lance wanted to know.

"It is indeed a sign of kinship," Saran said, his head in his hands. "_Literally_. That bracelet marks you as a member of her family as surely as blood."

"Ok," Lance said slowly. He was saying that a lot, during this conversation. "And this upsets you why?"

"It means many things, Lance McClain, that I do not now have time to explain. But most importantly, it means your family is her family, even as hers is now yours. It means Charlotte is her sister as surely as she is yours, and Kiari is honor-bound, _especially_ as Clan Leader, to get her back or to avenge her, whichever comes first. And every member of the tribes is honor-bound to aid her, if called upon." At Lance's shocked expression, Saran grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, ignoring his healing wounds. "It means she has gone to Doom, alone and unaided, to get your sister back, or die trying, because you cannot."

Lance stared at the man with mounting horror. "Gone to Doom? Alone? To get _my_ sister? And she gave me this medallion, and came here, and said she loved me, and _said nothing_ about all this? Because I _can't_ go to Doom myself_?_" He ripped the I.V. out of his arm and tried to stand. "Like hell I can't. I never thought I'd say this, but that woman is in serious trouble when I find her. Saran, please. I need something to wear, something loose. Voltron suit won't do. Have to cover these burns. My Academy sweat suit. With the hood. I need to get to my quarters. Will you help me?"

The man in black nodded. "That is the other thing, Fireheart. I have no choice _but_ to help you. I am your servant now, even as I am hers."

Lance stared at him, embarrassed. "Um. Well. That's nice. But all I really need is a pair of sweats. But thanks, just the same." He thought for a minute. "Oh, and I may need you to hold Dr. Gorma at sword point to get him to let me walk out of here..."

"Do not worry. I have already spoken to the good doctor. Swords were not necessary. A flash of my knife was sufficient."

Lance blanched. Kiari wasn't the only one who was going to be in serious trouble when she got back. Dr. Gorma, in his way, was tough as nails.

VVVVV

"That was a great idea about the Robeast files, Hunk. It's already improving our practice runs. We can formulate attack strategies and flight formations for Lion practice based on previous attacks. Good work," Keith told Hunk as they neared the end of their second practice session of the day. A working lunch was next, during which they would go over the holos of their practice runs, dissecting them for even the smallest mistakes, and looking for windows of improvement. _I let us slide too far,_ Keith berated himself, as he was doing almost constantly now. _I won't let it happen again_. He was prepared to be brutal during the review, but he had to admit, the Force was tightening back up again. As much as was possible, still being down a member.

"How is Lance doing, anyway?" Hunk asked, picking up on the substance of his commander's thoughts. It happened easily between them, this sensitivity to each other's thoughts, when in their Lions. "Who was the last to see him?"

"Pidge and I went last night," Allura said. "He was better, but he's still in a lot of pain." The Lions were headed back to the castle in standard formation, and she wasn't looking forward to the sight that would greet her. The rubble from the eastern tower was still in the process of being cleared, but that was all. Keith would not lower the threat level until the entire Voltron Force was back in action and their robot defender was once again ready to protect them. That meant no reconstruction efforts of any kind. Defense was once again their first priority. _I miss my garden_, she thought sadly.

_You'll have it back, and better than ever,_ Keith promised her, and she was grateful for the warm glow she felt when he spoke to her.

"Any estimation of a release date?" Pidge asked. "And would you two _stop_ that? I can't hear you, exactly, but I can feel you _glowing_ at each other, or something, and it's making me sick," he grumbled. He was almost constantly in a bad mood these days. He hadn't known the depth of his feelings for Lance's little sister until she vanished, and seeing Keith and Allura, so obviously made for each other, so obviously in love, made him miserable.

"No, no release date," Hunk said, deciding to ignore the rest of Pidge's outburst. He remembered being fifteen, and how confusing and powerful romantic attachments could feel. Allura and Keith wisely did the same. "But I gotta say, he looked like hell. It's gonna eat him up, him being used to being such a ladies man and all."

"I resent that comment. I'm _still_ a ladies man, I've just decided to play the tragically-wounded hero angle for a while." Red Lion flew towards them from the castle, fast but steady in its approach.

_None of his usual acrobatics or showing off_, Keith noticed with his clinical commander's eye. _He must still be hurting..._

_You're one to talk, commander_, Lance thought at him, and Keith groaned. He could hear Lance loud and clear. And there was a conversation coming between them about that very subject, if he remembered correctly.

"Finally!" Pidge crowed. "We can form Voltron again!"

"Again with the Voltron," Lance teased. "What about me? Isn't anyone glad to see me? And don't tell me you're quitting _already_..."

"Of course, Lance, we're thrilled to see you, but _what the hell are you doing here?_" Allura raged. Blue Lion growled. "You belong back in Med Center. I _saw_ you last night. There's no way you should even be in a uniform, let alone flying. And just how did you get Dr. Gorma to let you out? I should have that man thrown in a cell...first Keith, now you..."

"Relax, Princess. I'm not in uniform, exactly. I needed something loose, something that could breathe."

"I don't want to know," Hunk said quickly.

"And Dr. Gorma...well, I hope I don't have to see him again anytime soon. Saran took care of him. I think it involved a long, sharp knife, at some point," Lance said, sheepishly.

"Knife point. How creative. I just settled for some old-fashioned sneaking out," Keith said dryly.

"Look, I'm here, and I need the practice, we need the practice. I know you guys have been running double time, but how about a couple more? We need the big guy. We need him _yesterday_." He took a deep breath. "Saran broke me out for a reason. Kiari has gone after Charlotte, all by herself. Saran says it's some desert code of honor, or something. I couldn't, so Kiari decided to do it herself. Alone." The rest of the team was dead silent with shock.

"Are you saying..." Allura started to say.

"Kiari is on Planet Doom, alone, unaided, and going after my sister. So that's _two_ of the women I care about in that bastard's clutches. And if you guys won't help me, if I can't have Voltron as back up, then I'm going after them myself. In a cargo barge, if I have to." Red Lion dipped in formation, which was very unlike Lance. He was the steadiest pilot of them all. Keith knew he must be hurting in more ways than one.

_Kiari? But why? I know the Fire Tribe's customs fairly well, and she would be honor bound to do such a thing only for a close relative, or for a bonded loved one...Lance, is there something you're not telling us_? Allura asked hesitantly.

_It's this damned bond. When I...felt the two of you, that night..._He actually felt Allura's blush. _Remember when I said there were consequences?_ He smiled a little, but he knew they could feel his tangled emotions, his heart tight with fear for her welfare, for _both_ of them, and the crushing guilt he felt. _Well, congratulate me, you two. I think I may be engaged, or close to it..._

The long silence continued. He could feel shock, embarrassment, and guilt from his friends. There was determination, as well.

"It's Charlotte's birthday today. She's seventeen," Lance said softly. _Happy Birthday, Charlotte..._

"We're going to form Voltron, _right now_, and we're going to practice through lunch, all afternoon, and stop for a late dinner. _Maybe_. And then we're going to review the holos until we fall over. We have a rescue mission to run," Keith said in a firm, dark tone that brooked no argument.

He got none.

"Ready, team?" he said as he called out the familiar initializing sequence. As their Lions began to climb sharply upward, their cockpits were flooded with the welcome words:

"_Activate interlocks! _

_Dyna-therms connected. _

_Infra-cells up; _

_Mega-thrusters are go! _

_Form feet and legs; _

_Form arms and body; _

_And I'll form… the head!"_


	10. Chapter 10: Strangers and Fictions

Author's note: This chapter packed some surprises for me, as a writer. I love it when a character stands up and tells you what to do with yourself. Or writes him or herself into your story. You have to respect a character like that. Anyway. Not much to add. It's late, and I want to get this up before bed. Thanks to everyone who's been with me on this journey so far. I appreciate you more than you know. Warnings: Violence, mild creepiness, language.

Playlist: Great Northern, "Houses," and Ryan Adams, Calexico, Neko Case, Iron & Wine...hee hee... just try and take my music again, go ahead, I dare you... I'm not addicted or anything. I can quit any time I want.

All standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Ten:

Strangers and Fictions

Kiari lugged another armful of the carefully cut stone from the pit to the pile. Her arms ached, and her back and neck screamed at her. She dared not show any weakness, though. Not only was it something that went against her own warrior's code, and that of her people's, but to even hint that she was unused to this type of labor would be to reveal herself. The Drule overseers would see her weakness, and see through her carefully cultivated disguise. That would make her plans to rescue Lance's sister, _her_ sister, now, much more complicated. Not impossible, but complicated.

She quickly wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her tattered robes. She had tied her trademark long red hair up carefully underneath a dirty rag of a scarf, and had drenched her hair in mud before doing so, for good measure. She smiled to herself as she headed back down into the pit to chisel another armload of stone from the hard, unyielding depths of Planet Doom. She was sweaty and unwashed, she stank, what passed as her clothing was tattered and torn, hunger tore an aching hole through her stomach, and she was covered with scratches, bruises, and insect bites. In other words, she fit right in. Her plan to gain access to the castle from the slave pits was working, so far. They never suspected that someone might actually _want_ to be a slave here. And once she found an unconventional way in, she would be able to use it to get out. And she would bring Charlotte with her, or die trying.

She raised her aching arms, chiseling into the walls of the pit. It would be difficult, but not impossible, to gain access to the lower levels of the castle from here. The kitchens were a strong possibility; kitchen slaves frequently moved between the slave pits and the castle, bringing food to the guards and scraps to the slaves. The garbage crews were a possibility as well; the place where they dumped Castle Doom's copious waste was not far from here...

Heading back up the ladder with arms laden with stone was tricky, and Kiari stumbled on her way up, almost dropping her load and bringing the attention of the overseer upon her. Inwardly, she cursed herself, trying to grab the ladder with one hand and hold the stones to her chest with her other arm. _I should carry them in my skirt, _she thought. She had noticed some of the others doing that, using their clothing as makeshift baskets. She couldn't, though. That might give away the dagger she carried, strapped high on her thigh. It was the one weapon she'd brought, the one concession she had made for her safety. She would just have to hang on as best she could, and pray no one noticed...

Suddenly a strong arm from above grabbed her, preventing her from falling even as it steadied her load. She stiffened at the stranger's touch.

"Watch it!" the stranger hissed. "You will bring trouble upon us all!" In the dim light of the pit, she couldn't see who had helped her. He spoke like Lance and the rest of the team, but he had an odd accent, unlike any she had heard before...

What seemed like hours later, as the eternal twilight of Planet Doom deepened slightly, and what passed for evening settled over the slave pits, the guards changed shifts and kitchen slaves appeared in droves, carrying huge vats of scraps and leftovers. Kiari made a mental note. The guards changed at the same time the slaves were fed. _Sloppy_, she thought. The slaves of the pits surged forward, almost trampling the kitchen slaves in their eagerness to get at the food, and the two shifts of guards laughed and talked amongst themselves. _But a good chance for me_...

"You are new here." _That voice again, the one from the pit_, she thought. "You do not belong."

She stiffened. Had she given herself away so soon? Her fingers twitched over her dagger...

"Do not worry. I will not harm you, or tell the guards." He slipped beside her, almost silently, with a careful grace that reminded her of something, or someone... she couldn't place it...

He was dark haired and tall, strong and muscled, and had wild eyes and a thick beard. She was tall for a woman, almost as tall as Lance, and this man was taller than him, even. She fought back alarm as she remembered this man had helped her. Honor decreed that she do the same, if she could. Following her instincts, she decided to trust him. For now.

"How could you tell?" she hissed. The two of them stood on the outskirts of the mob of hungry slaves.

He smiled bitterly. "For many reasons, but mostly because pretty young women do not last long here. If they don't go to the harems, the gangs get them, or worst of all, the guards themselves. I'm sure I don't have to explain why this would be a bad thing, for you. You are a valuable form of currency. You are in danger, here."

"I'm covered in mud and dirt, and I smell bad," she said stubbornly. "I'm not pretty. And what gangs? What are you talking about?"

He did not answer her question. "I am surprised they have not come at you yet," he said. His eyes darted all around them, watchful, and she noticed that he held himself tense, as if ready to spring. "You should surrender yourself to the harems. Most pretty young women jump at the chance. It is the easiest life available to you here." He had edged closer to her, she noticed, and she found herself tensing for some kind of action, even though she didn't know what.

"I would die before I went there. And I'm not _pretty_," she hissed again.

"Reese's gang thinks differently," he hissed back, dropping suddenly into a half-crouch. "And here they come."

Six heavily muscled slaves ringed them suddenly, appearing out of the mob of the starving behind them. "Found yourself a new toy?" one of them asked the stranger contemptuously. _Three against one, provided this strange one can fight at all_, she thought absently, preparing herself to spring.

"You can tell your thug of a boss that this one's under _my protection_," the dark haired stranger said fiercely.

"I don't think so," one of them said. "Reese is sick of you interfering around here. He wants to teach you a lesson, and this pretty one here will be a nice bonus." Kiari hissed when he called her pretty. He looked at her, amused. "When we're done with her, we can trade her to the guards."

"That's not going to happen," her companion hissed. "And you can tell your boss that _I_ am sick of being bothered. How many times must I tell you all that I just want to be left alone?"

"Then why don't you just crawl back to your hole in the Pit of Skulls and stop making a nuisance of yourself?" Kiari inched herself right up against the stranger, assuming a fighting stance, so that the two of them would be fighting back to back.

"What do you know? Kitten has claws!" one of them laughed.

"Careful, traitor to your kind and defiler of women, or soon your throat will bear a new smile," she growled.

"Do not draw your weapon unless it means your life," her companion whispered. She was stunned by his keen observation. _How does he know I have_... "I will take them out with my bare hands," he told her.

"Half. Half of them are mine," she whispered back. She had no doubt, now, that she had somehow stumbled upon a warrior, here in the gods-forsaken slave pits of Doom. She thought he smiled, and she sent a quick, silent prayer of thanks to the gods.

"If you insist." She felt, rather than saw, the flurry of movement at her back. Her own hands were full as she flipped one of her attackers to the ground. She stomped on his throat. Cries of pain and the sound of bones snapping as bodies hit the ground came from behind her. She swept the legs out from underneath another of the thugs, kicking him in the jaw and the side of the head until he stopped moving. The exhilaration of battle sang through her blood as she whirled, fists raised, to face her last attacker, but all she found was her mysterious, self-appointed protector, standing over four bodies with a look of deep satisfaction.

"I said _three_ each," she huffed.

"Couldn't help myself." He grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him toward the entrance to a cave. "Come. We don't have much time before our actions are discovered. The guards will not pay much attention to another slave scuffle, but the gangs will." The cave, once inside, was much larger than it appeared from the entrance. It was dark and damp. Something about it made her shiver, but this man seemed comfortable here, and her instincts told her to trust him... "Your dagger. If you had used it, the guards would have noticed the injury, and would have torn this place apart looking for an armed slave." She nodded, understanding. She ran behind him for a while, and they reached a smaller cave off the main cavern. The stranger's eyes were dark, and almost invisible in the blackness. "I was partially wrong about you. You aren't _just_ pretty. You are a fighter. I meant no insult. Please. Tell me your name, and why you are here."

She owed him at least that much, but she would guard her purpose as best she could. She didn't trust him _that_ much. "My name is Kiari of the Red Dawn Clan. I have come here to rescue a kinswoman. I would be honored to know your name, as well."

The dark haired stranger sank down against a rock. "I wish I could tell you," he said, sad and confused. "I simply don't know. I don't remember my name, or where I came from. I only remember a great deal of pain, a burning, and bad dreams, like nightmares, and then, I was here." His face was grim in the darkness. "I think it was something with an 'S' sound to it, like Steven or something... sometimes I hear it in a dream, but I always wake up having forgotten it. I call myself Dark, because that is what my memories are. My dreams, as well. I think I must have been a fighter of some kind, because killing people seems to be the only thing I do well. It has kept me from having to join a gang. They are all afraid of me..." His haunted eyes stared into hers, and her heart tightened. This man was dangerous, possibly mad, even though he had chosen to help her. "Welcome, Kiari of the Red Dawn Clan, to the Pit of Skulls, the place I now call home."

She looked around her and shuddered. "I owe you a great debt, Dark. When I retrieve my kinswoman, perhaps you can come with us. We will always have a need for warriors such as yourself, as long as Zarkon continues his reign of terror."

The man called Dark shook his head sadly. "This is my home now. I am unfit to live any other way, to live around normal people. I wouldn't know how. This all I know."

"You could learn."

He laughed, short and bitter. "Perhaps. But it is not your job to teach me, Kiari of the Red Dawn. You must rescue your kinswoman. I have been here for so long, it would take months, maybe years, to teach me to tolerate the company of others for long. And that person would have to be used to madmen..."

She shivered at his words. "As you wish. You have helped me much, but perhaps you can help me more. Do you know a way into the castle? A way only servants and slaves would use? I had thought about the kitchens..."

"I do. The kitchens are a good idea, but perhaps I know an even better way. One that will get you out, as well," he said. "But you make me wonder about your sanity. No one tries to sneak _into_ Castle Doom. They always try to sneak out."

"I plan to do that as well," she assured him. "But not without my kinswoman."

"She must mean a lot to you."

Kiari thought of Lance, of being in his arms, of his quick wit and fierce loyalty, of the pain in his face when he watched his little sister when he thought no one was looking. "Very much, Dark. She means very much to me, and to others I care about."

VVVVV

"Ok, Pidge, classify it for us," Keith said sharply as Black Lion swooped around the fully emerged Robeast in an arc.

"It's a walker, obviously, with multiple arms, but the bulge at the throat indicates that it might be a screamer, and its one eye almost certainly means that it shoots..."

"Lasers," Lance said grimly as Red Lion narrowly avoided being hit.

"Take it easy, Lance. I want you strong and steady, nothing fancy. If you injure yourself one more time, Dr. Gorma's going to kill us all," Keith ordered, weaving Black Lion in and out of the Robeast's swinging arms.

"You're one to talk," Lance muttered darkly, but he confined himself to low, steady swoops around the creature. To be honest with himself, his still-healing burns were screaming at him in pain. The skin across his chest where the harness held him was already rubbed raw through the Derma Gen patches, and his burned hand was cracked and bloody from its grip on the control bar. But he wouldn't, couldn't, stop now. "Does anyone else think it's an odd coincidence that Zarkon sends a Robeast just when we're getting ready to crash his castle for a rescue party?"

"If he thinks he can hide behind a Robeast, he's got another think coming," Hunk said, Yellow Lion slashing at one of the Robeast's legs with the blades extended from its mouth.

"Then let's focus, team, and get rid of this thing so we can get on our way," Keith said. "Allura? Are you picking up anything 'special' about it?"

"Not so far, Keith," she said, Blue Lion flying sharply around its head. She reached out with her mind, trying to tease out any dark magic...

And winced as the Robeast let out a piercing scream. "Yep, it's a screamer," Lance said. "Good thing the new castle has blast shields...no breaking windows this time."

"Hunk! How did we fight the last screamer?" Keith yelled, joining Yellow Lion in slicing at the thing's legs.

"Sven shot a torpedo down its throat," Hunk said, and schematics of that battle appeared on everyone's vidscreens.

"This is for Sven then," Keith said as he pulled Black Lion up and fired down the Robeast's throat. It looked surprised, and scratched at its neck like it was choking, until part of its throat exploded outward. He pulled Black Lion back sharply, heading for the southern wastelands, and breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw it following.

"I'm adding slow and stupid to the list, Keith," Pidge said.

"It's following us," Allura crowed. "That will keep it away from the castle. Thank the goddess."

"Keith, " Lance said almost pleadingly.

"Yes. Right. Rescue mission to get to...ready to form Voltron, team?" Keith asked, but they were already climbing, he was already calling out the familiar commands:

"_Activate interlocks! _

_Dyna-therms connected. _

_Infra-cells up; _

_Mega-thrusters are go! _

_Form feet and legs; _

_Form arms and body; _

_And I'll form… the head!"_

"It feels good to be back," Allura said, almost reverently.

"No kidding," Hunk seconded.

"Quick and efficient, guys. We haven't got all day," their commander said. "Ready? Form Blazing Sword!"

The Robeast looked stupidly at the giant robot, still grabbing at its throat with one of its arms, as it swung wildly at Voltron with its other three. A sudden burst of laser fire from its single eye hit Voltron across the shoulder as the robot defender raised his mighty weapon, hitting Red Lion as Lance brought the sword down through the middle of the Robeast's body.

"Aw _Hell_! That _hurt_!" Lance swore as he struck. The Robeast looked down, as if surprised to see its guts spilling out.

"That's it. This one's definitely going in the 'stupid' file," Pidge announced.

"Lance! Report!" Keith barked. It was unlike his second-in-command to complain about pain. But then, he'd been burned to a crisp just recently... Keith was worried about him. Very worried.

"Fine. Just fine. Can we go now?" Lance said through clenched teeth.

Keith sighed. Lance was going to drive himself into an early grave until they could get to Doom. "Good work, team. Quick and easy. Let's separate out and get back to the castle to prepare for a deep space run."

Red Lion beat them all back to the docking bay, so Lance was the first to bear the brunt of Dr. Gorma's wrath.

"Oh, hi, doc," Lance said nervously.

"How are you, Lance?" the doctor asked. "Do you have any knife-wielding companions with you today?"

"Uh, no, fresh out of those, I'm afraid," he tried to joke, but Dr. Gorma wasn't smiling.

"Commander Kogane!" Keith stood frozen, half out of his Lion, looking as if he badly wanted to crawl back in and fly someplace far, far away. "If it isn't my second least favorite patient. And here you are, with my current _least_ favorite patient, Lieutenant McClain here, together. What a surprise."

"Hi, Dr, Gorma," Keith said sheepishly. "If this is about sneaking out of Med Center, I'm sorry, but we really don't have time for..."

Dr. Gorma was wearing a scary smile. "You don't have time, I know. You _need_ to fly and fight and generally abuse your body when you are still healing from three cracked ribs. At least the head trauma and broken arm are fixed, even though it took me _two fibron plates and three hours of surgery_." He turned on Lance. "And you, lieutenant McClain. So burned you can't even wear a flight suit. You look ridiculous, by the way." Lance stood in docking bay wearing the loose Academy sweats that didn't chafe against his burns so much. His uniform was still too tight for that. "Nor does it protect you very well. Look at yourself. You're bleeding again."

Lance looked down and saw the bloody outline of his safety harness soaked through the sweat suit fabric like a gruesome logo. _My skin must have split when that Robeast blasted me...threw me up against the harness..._

Allura gasped, horrified, seeing Lance's chest.

"So we're the worst patients ever. I'm sorry. We have to get to Doom, Doctor Gorma. There are two young women there who are going to be in much worse shape than me..."

"I know that," Dr. Gorma said with a sigh. "Which is why I am here. If you won't go to Med Center, then Med Center will come to you." Suddenly Keith and Lance were swarmed with nurses and technicians, both of them flat on their backs on gurneys while they were poked and prodded. Lance groaned as a nurse pulled his sweatshirt off him, pulling against his newly split open burns. It also meant the rest of the team could see the real extent of the damage.

"Jesus Christ, Lance," Hunk swore, staring at the burns across almost every inch of his friend's chest. Nurses moved quickly to remove the old Derma Gen patches and spray him with topical omnibiotics and analgesics before slapping fresh patches on him. Lance cried out against the pain; he couldn't help himself, and that scared the team even more than the Robeast had.

Dr. Gorma shook his head as he looked over Keith's bioscan. "You realize your ribs are barely healing. The wrong kind of impact against that harness could break them again, perhaps puncturing a lung this time," he warned, while Allura cried out again in alarm.

"We don't have a choice," Keith said, his teeth clenched as nurses poked and prodded him.

"Please, Dr. Gorma," Allura began to plead.

Koran rushed into docking bay, out of breath. "We have an incoming transmission from Doom," he huffed.

"They'll have to see it in here," Dr. Gorma said. "I'll use force, if necessary, to give me just ten more minutes with these young men."

Koran's eyebrows shot up higher than Allura had ever seen them go. "Very well," he said. Hunk hit a touchpad on the wall and a vidscreen blinked suddenly to life.

Suddenly, there were not enough hands in the whole docking bay to hold Lance down. He was up in an instant, wearing nothing but his sweatpants and Derma Gen patches, rushing the screen. Keith was up in seconds as well, trying vainly to hold his friend back.

Lotor gloated at them from the screen, looking as happy and content as Lance had ever seen him. And at his side, not even as tall as his shoulder, stood his sister. His baby sister. She was doing her best to stand straight and tall, to be brave and strong, but Lance knew her so well. He knew she was really frozen with fear, and her eyes looked wide and haunted. Her eyes looked dead.

She was dressed provocatively, in the style of women of Doom; her sleeveless white dress was almost blindingly bright and hugged her every curve. It was very sheer, as well... She was heavily made up, and she wore some kind of circlet across her unnaturally curly hair. She was beautiful. _When did she grow up so fast_? he thought numbly. Out loud, he growled, "Lotor, you disgusting son of a whore, what have you done to her?"

"Lance!" she cried, moving towards the screen as if she could touch him through it. "My god! What happened to you?" she said, taking in his burns.

He forced himself to calmness, or at least, the appearance of it. It was hard. Very hard. But he didn't want to upset her further. "It's nothing, little sister," he said, but his eyes sparked hate as he took in Lotor. "I'm fine. Everything's fine here." Her shocked blue eyes darted quickly around the room, trying to take everything in, to see all she could.

"All of you? You're all ok? The princess too?" she asked anxiously. Lance narrowed his eyes. Something was strange...

"Of course I am, Charlotte, and I can't tell you how relieved we are to see you," Allura said, stepping forward. "Although I can't say the same thing for your companion, I'm afraid."

"Allura. Charming as always," Lotor said. His voice was chilly.

"Are you hurt, Charlotte?" Pidge asked anxiously, stepping up beside Lance. Inside, he seethed. He had never wanted to hurt someone so badly as he did Lotor, right at that moment, but he, too, could see the fear in her eyes, the nervous way she held herself away from Lotor's grip, and he wanted to tread very lightly with her.

"I'm alright," she said flatly.

Pidge knew she was lying.

"What do you want, Lotor? An exchange? Me for her?" Lance almost begged. "Name your price. I'll meet it. Whatever it is," he promised darkly.

Lotor laughed. "You flatter yourself. Your sister has proven to be a most charming and...stimulating... companion. Why would I want to exchange her for someone as loathsome as yourself?" Charlotte frowned at him. "I'm sorry, my dear, but it's true."

"Then what do you want, Lotor?" Allura asked wearily, preparing herself for the old demand, the same one he always made, to trade Lance's sister for herself. She felt Keith tensing behind her, his hand gripping her arm, preparing himself for the same offer.

"Why, nothing, Allura, except your congratulations." He draped a leather-clad arm around the fragile-looking young woman, who shivered at his touch. "Lady Grayson-McClain signed the contract a little past midnight last night, as soon as she turned seventeen. That's the legal age of consent, you know, in her home country."

Lance's stomach sank like a stone. "What contract?" Pidge asked warily.

"To become my first official concubine. The position of Queen is already spoken for, as you well know, Allura," he purred. "She'll retain her title, and I'll give her another one, something from Doom, of course. She'll live in luxury, as befits her station, and any offspring..." Lance lunged at the word, only to be hauled back by Keith's fierce grip. "Any of our offspring will be acknowledged princes and princesses of Doom, although they will not inherit. _That_ honor will be yours, Allura."

"Lucky me," she mumbled.

"And in return," Lotor said, "I get complete and total control of anything she owns. Lands, assets, and her company." Lotor's eyes flashed. "All of it. The weapons, technology, research, minerals, contracts with the Alliance... if any Alliance planet, or even Galaxy Garrison, wants anything from the McClain corporation, they will have to go through me. It's all legal, an airtight contract. I've already sent copies to every involved Alliance planet."

"Is this true, Charlotte? Did you agree to this? No one will honor a contract you were forced into signing," Lance pleaded.

"It's true," she whispered. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"We won't ask you why," Keith said, stepping forward, as if trying to shield the group behind him. "It doesn't matter. We know there was a good reason. We just want you back. Back home. And we'll get you back, don't worry." He could feel Lance quaking with rage behind him.

"If only you hadn't gotten yourself disinherited, slave," Lotor said, addressing Lance again. "You would be in control of your family's company, and none of this would be happening. Funny thing, though." He ran his hands across Charlotte's shoulders and down her arms, where Vivienne had hurt her, holding them out for all to see. "She's in much better shape now, after spending some time with me, than she was when I found her. After she had been under _your_ dubious protection."

"I'm going to kill you," Lance said.

"How unoriginal. I'm sending you another present. And then another, and another, until your planet is dust again, Allura, and Voltron is destroyed." Lotor looked down at the young woman in his arms. "I find that I rather enjoy your little sister's company, Red Lion pilot. I hope to keep you too busy to even think about taking her from me." Right before the image blinked out, Lance had one last chance to look at Charlotte, and to him, she looked like she was six years old again, crying into her mashed potatoes, except this time, he wasn't there to stop the blows. For the first time, he prayed not just for Kiari's safety, as well as his sister's, but for her success, as well. _It's looking like I may be a little delayed_...

The castle alarms started blaring at full blast. Koran consulted his comm. unit. "We've got coffins, I'm afraid. At least two. If you'll excuse me, I must get back to Castle Control." He paused long enough to place his hand gently on Lance's arm. "My deepest sympathies, Lance. I'm sure she'll be alright."

"Just _try_ not to bang yourselves up too badly," Dr. Gorma called as all five of them climbed wearily back into their Lions. "But I'll be here when you do," he added softly as they flew away.


	11. Chapter 11: A String of Days

Author's note: Thanks very much to Rocky Oberlin for hanging with me thus far, and for his insight into plot and character, and to kitten, who it's always nice to hear from, and to everyone else who's been along for the ride. Thanks to an anonymous reviewer for the useful comments about Lotor, as well. I should add a warning about an adult situation towards the end, but even so, I'd still rate this a PG or mild PG 13 chapter. Enjoy!

Playlist: Pavement, Slanted and Enchanted, and U2, The Joshua Tree

All standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Eleven:

A String of Days

The two Robeasts were an odd, but ingenious mix, this time, Keith thought grimly. It was as if Lotor knew exactly where the team's loyalties lay, and was determined to split those loyalties any way he could, whether by exploiting existing weaknesses, or through creating new ones. _How did he know_? Keith thought, exhausted and enraged as he watched as one of them, the one Voltron hadn't yet been able to directly engage, stomped around the castle grounds. It did not charge the castle itself, but contented itself with destroying everything around it, and, in its way, that was more damaging than direct hits to Castle Control. It was as if Lotor had sent these Robeasts to strike at their hearts, to destroy their morale. Allura's garden, damaged even more in the last attack, lay in total shambles now, along with the fountains, trees, and even the playground... _How did he know where to hit us all where it hurts the most_?

He forced his attention back to the problem at hand, searching for the calm center that let him coldly calculate the battle that lay in front of him. Voltron was almost dancing with the first Robeast, grappling with it as it slipped out of the robot's grasp, again and again, evading weapons that had always worked with a snake-like fluidity that had him grinding his teeth in frustration. It was the fastest Robeast they had ever encountered.

"I don't like how fast this thing is," Lance said, mirroring Keith's thoughts so closely that the commander was reminded, yet again, of the bond they shared. "In my experience, fast usually means smart," Lance added.

"It's like trying to hold flowing water, or something," Pidge observed.

"It feels that way," Allura agreed. "But I wish it were that simple. If it _was_ made of water, I could deal with it pretty quickly." It was not an idle boast. Her powers had grown since returning from the Isle of Mist. They had been under almost constant attack of some kind or another since their return, and Nyle had said something about Allura's peculiar gift being like a muscle. The more she used it, the stronger it would get. "I never thought I'd _wish_ for a magically enhanced Robeast," she muttered darkly.

"I worked really, really hard on that playground," Hunk said. They could all feel the rage and sadness that warred within the Yellow Lion pilot.

"We'll rebuild it, better than ever," Keith said as the Robeast grappled out of Voltron's grip yet again. "Dammit! I'm sick of dancing with this thing, we can't get a clear stroke with Blazing Sword, and that other one is too close to the castle. Let's see how it likes a bear hug. Try to pin it, stun it, finish it off..."

He rushed Voltron forward, throwing both robot arms around it. It seemed surprised by such a direct and graceless attack. Keith squeezed the thing as tightly as he could, the Blazing Sword clutched tightly in the robot's fist behind the creature's back. "Electroforce Cross!" he called out, and the Robeast shrieked as it was slammed directly in the chest with destructive energy.

The second Robeast left its position around the castle and launched itself straight at Voltron, landing on his back in a hold just like the one Voltron had on the first Robeast. It shrieked and wrapped its scaled arms around the giant robot and squeezed with incredible pressure.

"I don't think it likes what we're doing to its friend," Lance said. His teeth were clenched against the increasing pressure; as one of Voltron's arms and the Lion holding the Blazing Sword, he felt the pressure more intensely that the rest of the team. Being thrown around in the cockpit was painful as his burned body smacked against his safety harness, his seat, and control bar....

"They don't usually _have_ friends," Pidge said, puzzled. "They don't usually work together. This is a first."

"How about we figure that out _after_ we're done being a Robeast sandwich?" Lance yelled.

"It's squeezing us, but that means it's pinned its friend too," Keith said, a plan coming to him suddenly. "Ok, release Robeast number one on my mark...steady..._Now! Blazing Sword_!"

Voltron released the Robeast underneath it, freeing up the robot's lion hands in time to stab the creature in the side. Voltron twisted the blade and slashed upward to maximize the damage, and the creature roared and thrashed as its insides came gushing out of the hole in its side. It didn't fade quietly, though. Keith clenched his teeth as the dying Robeast underneath them thrashed and hit at them, its blows growing gradually weaker. At the same time, they were still being shaken and squeezed by the second Robeast. It was still on them, still pinning them.

"Can't...strike it from here... not with the Sword..." Lance choked out. Keith could hear the pain in his friend's voice.

"Form Shining Axe!" he called out. It had worked once before, but that Robeast had been much stupider, much slower, nowhere near as strong...

As the first Robeast stopped thrashing completely, the massive Shining Axe struck at the second one across and over its shoulder, connecting with scaled flesh. The remaining Robeast screamed but held on fiercely. "Again!" Keith commanded, but the giant robot was already doing so, and as the second Robeast continued to squeeze him, Voltron swung the Axe again and again, hacking away at the thing with a graceless brutality Keith had never seen before.

The creature was finally damaged enough, after countless blows with the gore-covered axe, to let go, lumbering backwards with a bellow of rage. "Let's finish it," Keith said coldly, and Voltron was up and rushing at the creature so fast that it seemed truly surprised to find itself staring directly at the Axe. But the robot was ready, and brought the Axe straight down on the creature's head and through its body until it lay in a crumpled, bloody heap.

"That was brutal," Hunk said, breathing heavily. Even the robot defender seemed to be panting.

"Yeah, that got pretty ugly," Keith agreed, thinking of the gore they were all covered in. He was glad he wasn't on the maintenance crew today. "But it worked. Roll call, team."

"I'm good," Allura said, and Pidge and Hunk announced that everything was fine on their end.

"Lance?" Keith asked, worried. Usually his second-in-command was the first to report back, and usually with biting humor.

"Yeah," was all he said. His voice was flat and strained.

"Are you alright?" Allura asked, concerned.

Out loud, Lance said nothing. But in their minds, he all but shouted _Hell no, I'm not alright! I'm hurting like hell, my sister's still in Lotor's clutches, Kiari's still gone and no one's heard from her, we just fought our third Robeast in two days, we can't get off this damn planet to rescue anybody because Lotor's set up a Robeast blockade, and nothing and nobody can get in or out, and we're almost out of coffee, and Lotor's holding McClain Corp. like a knife to the Alliance's throat, so no reinforcements... and that's just the immediate stuff. I could keep going, if you'd like._

_Oh Lance, I'm so sorry,_ Allura thought back. Her voice in his mind was oddly soothing, like being bathed in cool water, and he felt better and realized he was being a jerk all at the same time.

"I'm alright," he lied out loud.

Keith, having heard the whole thing, had a bad feeling about his friend's grip on his sanity. "Let's separate out, and get back to the castle. With three attacks in two days, we have to stay on our toes. But I want us all to get as much rest as possible before the next storm breaks."

Lance bit back a sarcastic remark, but he was the first one to break formation and fly back to the castle.

_Keith?_ Allura thought.

_What is it?_

_I'm worried about him. When he spoke to us, when I spoke back, his mind felt...fiery, or something. It reminded me of when I was burning, before we found Nyle..._

Keith gripped his control bar much tighter than was necessary as he prepared to land. _That's not good, sweetheart. Not good at all... I'm afraid he's starting to crack with the pressure he's under. I'll talk to him._

_We both will_, she thought back as Blue Lion touched down.

VVVVV

"You're going to damage yourself beyond repair if you keep this up, Lance," Dr. Gorma said, shaking his head, knowing his words were falling on deaf ears.

"Tell it to Lotor. He's the one who keeps throwing Robeasts at us."

Dr. Gorma's smile was brief and bitter. "I don't think that would make him unhappy, Lance, so I'll keep it to myself." He looked over the datapad in his hands. "Do you know what third degree burns are? How damaging they are?" Lance said nothing. His jaw was tightly clenched, whether in pain, anger, or frustration, he couldn't tell. "You've never slowed down enough to really let yours heal properly. The consequences involve extensive scarring and loss of feeling in the skin. Additionally, you risk infection, especially in your case, because you seem to reopen your wounds as quickly as they close. Think about that. Think about losing sensation in your hand when you have to fire a blaster to protect one of your teammates."

Lance hissed. He was on his back in Med Center, enduring another round of Derma Gen patches and topical omnibiotics and analgesics. He didn't have the luxury of caring about the scarring; he knew he could eventually try reconstructive surgeries when and if they became necessary. But the thought of being unable to protect someone who was depending on him, someone he cared about, hit home. "I'm familiar with being unable to protect the ones I love, and having them suffer for it," he said darkly, his thoughts swirling with grief and acute pain. "But I have to keep trying."

Dr. Gorma made a few notes on the datapad. "I know you are in a great deal of pain, and that can't be helping your mental state. But you haven't taken anything for pain since you strolled out of here at knife-point."

"I'm _sorry_ about that, I've said so a thousand times. I didn't know he was going to do it," Lance almost yelled. "And I _can't_ take anything for pain. Nothing that might make my head fuzzy. Not while I might have to fly Red Lion at any second. Too risky. And at least I'm here. I trot up here just like you tell me to, when you tell me to."

Dr. Gorma had to admit he was right. Lance _was_ being uncharacteristically cooperative. He had seen him several times over the last few days, and with each visit, his mood seemed to darken. It was to the point that he was more worried about Lance's mental state than he was about his burns.

After a long silence of watching the Red Lion pilot grit his teeth and struggle not to cry out as nurses hovered over him, Dr. Gorma pulled up a chair. He had to at least try to get through to him.

"You're under a lot of pressure, you know. How have you been sleeping?"

Lance stared at him, incredulous. "You mean between the Robeast attacks and the transmissions from Doom and trying to figure out how to get my sister and my... my _girlfriend_...back while trying to wrestle back control of McClain Corp. from Lotor, you want to know how I'm _sleeping_? I'm not, Dr. Gorma. I'm not sleeping. Sometimes I collapse, but that's about it."

Dr. Gorma nodded and made a few notes. "And exactly what gave you the idea to stop that Robeast the way you did? With a... what did you call it? A 'suicidal death dive?' Wasn't that right after you were told your sister had been taken?"

Lance closed his eyes against the bright lights of Med Center. _Damn lights_, he thought. _They're making my eyes water_. "It just seemed like the thing to do," he said flatly. "My life wasn't nearly as important as stopping that Robeast. It's a choice I make, we _all_ make, every single day we fly, doctor."

"I see." Dr. Gorma rose to leave. "Lance, I want you to consider the stress you're under, and how that may be affecting your performance. I want you to take it easy, to rest, and to try to stop blaming yourself. I'll be honest with you. I'm worried about your mental state. You're unstable, and that can affect your performance in the air as surely as a third degree burn." He paused a moment to let his words sink in. "I want you to find someone to talk to about...things, if you can."

Lance stared at the doctor in shock. "You want me to see a therapist," he said. He remembered saying that very thing to Charlotte. It was almost the last thing he'd said to her. _No wonder she got so pissed_, he thought, and he found himself laughing. "A therapist," he said, and laughed even harder. He tried to stop himself, aware that he wasn't helping his case by laughing hysterically in front of Dr. Gorma, but it was hard.

"That would be ideal, yes, but I harbor no illusions that you would ever do such a thing. I really just meant someone to talk to, Lance. You know, _friends_. I hear that's what they're for. But what do I know?" And Dr. Gorma walked out the door.

Lance watched him go before stumbling back to his own quarters. His eyes were still watery, from the bright lights of Med Center, and he pulled the hood of his ever-present sweat suit down further to hide his burned face and shaved hair and wet eyes. He wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball on his bed in the dark and try not to think of what might be happening to Charlotte right now, or Kiari, at least until the alarms went off again and he had to go cut off some monster's head and hurt himself again and have to go back to Med Center and hear the same lecture over and over again....

Allura was waiting for him in his quarters. She had bathed and changed, and she smelled like lilies. Fresh from the bath, her wet hair clung to her shoulders and back, dampening the fabric of her white dressing gown. She sat on the very edge of his bed, as if uncertain of her place here, in his quarters. She was alone.

_Where's Keith_? he wanted to ask. _Why are you here_? _In your dressing gown_?_ Smelling like lilies_? He thought these things but didn't ask them. Maybe she could hear him, maybe not. He didn't know or care. He just knew his eyes wouldn't stop watering, no matter how many times he blinked or how far he hid under his sweat suit hood. She looked up at him and held out her arms, tears in her own eyes, and he closed the distance between them with short, jerky movements, hardly able to see, before he collapsed beside her on his bed, sobbing against her as she held him gently, mindful of his burns, but firm in her hold on him as she rocked him.

_Ssshh, Lance, ssshh, it's alright, let it out, as best you can...I can feel your heart, it's burning you...we love you, I love you, we're here for you..._

Her voice in his mind was like cool water, her arms a sanctuary, and he let himself be held while he tried to let it out, crying, in her arms, and it was a long time before he could form any words. But when he could, he did, and she sat back and listened while he talked, because she was his friend, and that was what friends did. He talked until his throat was raw, and he cried some more, and she brought him a warm washcloth for his face, and teased him and tried to make him laugh. It worked, at least a little, and then Keith was there with honey rolls from Nyle, telling him that he'd hoarded all the coffee he could find so they wouldn't run out for a long time, and Lance laughed, and had to talk some more with wet eyes, and Keith listened with his dark, serious eyes, because he was his best friend and brother. Lance finally fell asleep, exhausted, right there in Allura's lap, and she looked at Keith, who shrugged and tried to curl up in Lance's tiny chair. When morning came the three of them were fast asleep, Allura tangled up around Lance in his bed while Keith lay half in the chair and half across Lance's legs, the three of them looking like a pack of puppies exhausted after a hard day of chasing their tails, and it was the best sleep any of them had gotten in days and days.

VVVVV

Princess Romelle of Pollux was not startled when the door to her cell opened with no notice whatsoever. She had gradually gotten used to the lack of privacy here just as she had gotten used to having no purpose but to serve his wishes. She tried not to think about it, and usually, she managed. But she knew some part of her did care, cared very much, and that she was stuffing that part of herself down deep, and that one day, if she was ever to be whole or healthy again, that part of her was going to have to come out. If he did not kill her first.

He was not always violent with her. Sometimes he was indifferent, sometimes he was distracted, and sometimes he seemed almost wistful, looking at her as if he was wishing for something very hard. But sometimes he was violent. Quite violent. And she never knew which aspect of him was going to come through her door, just as she never knew when he was coming. Sometimes he would go days and days without coming, and those times were the hardest, in their way. She would start to relax, to think it might be over, to dare to begin to hope, and yet he always appeared, eventually, and her hopes crashed again. She had no way to mark the days but by the meals she was served and by the coming and going of a single servant who cleaned and supplied an endless variety of new dresses.

He liked to see her in frilly pink dresses, and would order her single slave to dress her hair so that it fell in long ringlets down her back and shoulders, and was gathered back with a plain golden circlet. At such times he was the most unpredictable, swinging from one extreme to the other. He was either excessively tender or extremely violent. Sometimes he called her by another name, and would shake her, and demand to know why she couldn't be this other woman... Romelle hoped this woman, whoever she was, never fell into his clutches.

Today was such a day. Her single slave had dressed her in pink and curled her hair at breakfast. Although he did not always come on the days he dressed her in pink, he usually did, and as he strode into her cell, smelling of leather and striding arrogantly, she did not sense violence in him. Rather, he eyed her impatiently, as if he wanted to be someplace else entirely, and she was some task he had to finish before he could do whatever it was he really wanted to do.

She stood and backed nervously against the wall. Her ability to not think about things vanished when confronted with him directly. At such times, she wanted to cry and scream or run, but she didn't. She knew it would only mean a beating.

"What do you want?" she whispered, her head turned away from him, to the same spot on the floor where she always looked when he came.

"What do you think I want?" he asked as he took her by the shoulders.

She nodded, not able to hold back the single tear that escaped.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Romelle. I'm not here to hurt you. Believe me, I'd rather be someplace else, with someone else entirely, so lucky for you, I don't believe I'll stay long today."

"Why aren't you, then?" she managed to whisper.

"Why aren't I what?" he growled, and she shrank against the wall even more.

"With someone else? You always do what you want, don't you?" She closed her eyes, expecting a blow, but none came. Instead, his hold on her relaxed a little.

"I don't know," he said softly, and Princess Romelle of Pollux opened her eyes to an amazing sight. For the first time since she had known him, Lotor looked lost, and utterly confused. "I don't know," he repeated, as if amazed. Then he turned his attention back to her, and she sorted through her memories to find one to lose herself in. Today, she was back on Pollux, hunting the bright burrow birds of the Emerald Forest, and her little brother was with her. It was the day he killed his first wild boar...

VVVVV

In the end, she saw the wisdom of his plan. He would show her the secret route into Castle Doom. She would use it to work her way towards Lotor's quarters, scouting for Charlotte. Once she had the girl back, she would use the maintenance ducts to get her out.

"This plan of yours. I do not understand. Why must you scout Lotor's quarters?" He stood in the shadows cast by the fire, his arms crossed, leaning against the wall of the small cave he had claimed as his own. The fire, rather than reflect off his wild eyes, seemed to pool itself there, and to Kiari, sitting cross-legged, her fingers resting lightly near her dagger, he looked mad and dangerous. She did not fear him, though. Mad and dangerous was the sanest, most sensible way to be in a place like this. It had probably ensured his survival, and, after the help he had given her earlier, very likely her own as well.

She had said many prayers of thanks since first meeting him. He had fed her and shown her a place to bathe, a cavern not far from where she sat that housed a shallow pool. When she returned from washing the mud from her hair, he showed her a small pile of clothing, and she sorted through it, piecing together a makeshift wardrobe of dark, tightly fitting pants and a similarly dark tunic. She did not ask where he had gotten them. She knew she was wearing the clothes of the dead.

She forced herself to answer his question. Again. "Because I do not yet know exactly where my kinswoman has been taken," she explained patiently. She had already explained herself. Twice. He forgot things easily. "Lotor almost assuredly has her, but I remain uncertain as to where, exactly. I know from others that he has more than one complex here. Therefore, I must, as you say, scout the possibilities."

He shook his head, incredulous. "You sneak into the slave pits of Doom, and into the castle itself, to find someone and you don't even know where she is. And I doubt my own sanity... At least let me go with you. In case you encounter trouble."

She had already turned down his offers to go with her. "No, Dark. I must move quickly, and I am used to working alone, like you. And I am more than capable of dealing with trouble on my own." She smiled teasingly. "I am not quite as delicate as I seem, you know."

"But Castle Doom... Lotor himself..." he mused. He was becoming agitated. She had to spend the night here, and she wanted to calm his fears that she could protect herself. Perhaps it would settle his agitation...

She closed her eyes, concentrating, and swept her hand through the fire. He cried out as she thrust her arm directly into the burning flames, and then again as she pulled her hand out, unburned. She held a handful of the flames cupped in her palm. "You see, Dark?" The flames in her palm grew into a column of fire. "You need not worry. If I cannot get back my kinswoman, if I encounter serious trouble, I can always burn Castle Doom down to the ground. Perhaps I will do it anyway."

She had meant it jokingly, a teasing way to display the power that was second nature to her and would protect her, and Charlotte too, if it came to that. But the effect on him was electric. He backed away from her, into one of the darkest recesses of the cave. "I remember being on fire, once," he said, and his voice was tortured. Inwardly, she cursed herself as the fire in her hand went out. Burning was one of the few things he remembered from his former life. She had forgotten.

"It's alright, Dark," she tried to reassure him, but he avoided her for the rest of the evening, muttering to himself in a strange language. Her heart hurt for him, this mad man who had doomed himself to a life here. When morning came, true to his word, he crawled with her through the dark twists and turns of the Pit of Skulls. She fell more than once in the blackness of the tunnels as they traveled. He had not stumbled at all. She dared not produce a flame, however. She did not want to upset him again. They came to a large cavern that opened to the sky, and she understood the name of the place, then. They skirted the huge pile of skeletons and rotting corpses. Neither of them spoke. Kiari knew she would carry the sight and smell of the place within her until the day she died. And yet he lived here...

"I will be forever in your debt, Dark," she whispered. Cool, stale air blew her red hair all around her as she stood, finally, under a shiny metal grate, large enough for one person to climb up into.

"I will watch for you, Kiari of the Red Dawn. I hope you find your kinswoman." His eyes were black and deep as he hung back in the near total darkness.

She pulled herself up and into the vast metal ductwork that traveled throughout Castle Doom. She crawled in the blackness until she was well away from him, following his directions that would lead her to the section of the castle that housed the royal family. She did not think she would see him again, as she did not intend to get Charlotte out through the Pit of Skulls. She waited, out of courtesy to him, until she was well away before producing a tiny flame to see by.

VVVVV

Lotor, Crown Prince of Doom, found himself laying in the dark, in his bedroom, _alone_, thinking of a particular door that he had been unable or unwilling, he wasn't sure which, to go through tonight. And so, he lay alone in his great bed. He never slept alone.

He had paid a visit to his current favorite slave girl, he had avoided drinking too much wine, and he had put off dealing with unpleasant business until after breakfast in the morning. In other words, he had gone out of his way to make sure he wouldn't be drunk, angry, or overcome with desire. He did all of this because he did not want to lose control of himself when he went to her. She was sheltered. She was young. She'd had bad experiences already in her short life, and he did not want to be another one of them. But she was his, now, and he had been patient long enough. It was time. He would be patient still, and gentle, but it was time. Past time.

_So why didn't I?_ he wondered, frustrated. Romelle's words echoed back at him. _You always do what you want_...

Perhaps he simply didn't want her. Perhaps he'd been fooling himself. Now that he had her corporation, what need of her did he really have? He could send her away somewhere, and the controlling share of McClain Corp. would still be his. Perhaps then he could stop feeling so frustrated and confused. _Yes, that's it_, he told himself. _I'll send her away. Someplace distant, but safe, someplace suitably luxurious_...

He punched his pillows. He had meant what he told the Red Lion pilot. He really _did_ enjoy her company. It had not been an idle boast. And she was still so young, and she had signed his contract. She was his. _His_. There would be time. There would be plenty of time to dine with her, to dress her, to see which colors made her glow, to hear more of her life, which had been so frighteningly like his own. Time enough...

He closed his eyes in the darkness, hoping sleep would come, when he heard the door open quietly. He smiled when he saw her, standing barefoot in the doorway, looking as confused as he felt. He almost laughed. Thinking of her youth and of how sheltered she was, the nightgowns he had sent her were quite modest, by Doom standards. But apparently, she still found them too revealing, for she stood there, her straight shiny hair slightly tangled, in a nightdress and _two_ robes, her arms crossed protectively over her breasts. He could just barely make out the outlines of her body and the glow of her pale human skin, and yet, he felt a wave of desire and possessiveness overcome him at once. _Perhaps I should have visited two slave girls..._

"I was wondering if you were coming," she said. She was frowning at him slightly. "No one would tell me anything. I hate not knowing what to expect." He thought she looked adorable in her bare feet and ridiculous nightclothes. She made no move towards him, and he stayed frozen where he was.

"So you came here? To me? Because you hate not knowing things?" he teased.

"No," she said, and shivered violently. "I mean, yes, I do hate not knowing things. But that's not why I came." She shivered again, and he noticed she was shaking.

"Are you cold?" he asked, sitting up very slowly, so as not to startle her. Humans were more sensitive to temperature than Drule, and he liked his chambers cool. Even shirtless, it seemed temperate to him. "Are you ill?" he asked anxiously.

"No!" she said, just as anxiously. "I mean, yes, I'm cold. It's _freezing_ in here. But I'm not ill. I don't feel sick." She shivered again, hugging herself. "And would you _please_ stop asking me two questions at the same time? It's making it even harder to talk to you."

"As you wish," he said. He was sitting up against his pillows now, moving as slowly and carefully as if she was a wild bird he didn't want to scare away. He reached for his own plush robe that was draped across a far pillow and held it out to her. "Would you please put this on, my lady? I don't want you to be cold. Or ill."

She took it from him with shaking hands, uncrossing her arms to do so, and he had one brief, glorious glimpse of her unshielded chest as she slipped into it. And then she looked more ridiculous than ever, his robe engulfing her like a huge blanket. It seemed to make her a little more comfortable, though, and he fought back a laugh as she thanked him. She stared at him as he sat, shirtless and motionless, in the middle of his bed. "Would you like to sit?" he asked, indicating the edge of his bed. There was no other furniture in the room. As she hesitated, he added, "I won't touch you, if you'd prefer. And then you can tell me why you've come."

She looked miserable and confused as she perched on the edge of his bed. She was still staring at him, and Lotor began to wonder if she'd ever seen a man without his shirt on before.

"I had a nightmare," she said, after a very long silence filled with stares.

"A bad dream?" he asked, and she nodded almost violently. "What about?" He began to wonder if he was dreaming. He was Lotor, the scourge of the Denubian Galaxy, and this fragile creature was telling _him_ about a nightmare. Even more amazing, he was listening to her.

"It doesn't matter." Her words became a torrent, suddenly, and he had to listen closely to catch everything. "The thing is, I had a nightmare, which I often do, since before I even came here, since I was a very small child. I think I was born having nightmares, actually. So that part's not your fault. But you see, I fell asleep. I fell asleep because I was waiting for you to come to me. I expected it, after I signed those papers. You were very clear about what that meant. And then you dressed me like you did, and showed me to my brother, who looks horrible, by the way, and you were very clear then, too." She sounded angry. "So I've been waiting, since then, all alone, might I add, because there is no one here to talk to but you. And after I had this nightmare, I was all alone, waiting and _terrified_, because you have a horrible reputation as to what you do to women. And you never came. So I came here instead. Not because I _want_ you to come to me, necessarily, but because I need to know. So I can stop having nightmares." He blinked in surprise. She sounded _angry_, rather than afraid. Alone with him. In his bedroom. Amazing.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't quite follow you. What is it you want to know?"

She actually punched his bed in frustration. "I have a name, and it is Charlotte. Please use it. And what I want to know is, why haven't you come to me? And will you, and when? And will it be...I mean, are you really as terrible as people say?"

It was probably his turn to laugh at her, but he didn't. "That's more than one question, my lady."

Her blue eyes were huge in the darkness. "_Charlotte_. My name is Charlotte. It was really hard to come here, you know," she said, and he nodded, acknowledging the truth of it.

"It was brave," he said. "I do have a horrible reputation. Especially when it comes to women. Much of it deserved."

She gulped. "So, why haven't you? Come to me?"

"I don't know," he almost whispered.

"Will you come?"

"Yes," he admitted softly.

"Then _when_?" she all but wailed.

"I don't know. I don't know why I haven't, yet. And believe me, Charlotte, it's not because I don't want to."

They looked at each other, deadlocked in their misery. He watched her as she gave his robe back, her pale human flesh luminous in the darkness. _Definitely should have visited two slave girls_..._what in the seven hells is wrong with me? Am I going to let her just walk out of here?_

No, he realized. Not this time.

"I think I've been waiting for you to come to me," he said, moving towards her slowly.

She gulped, but did not move away. "Perhaps that's best," she whispered. "Get it over with. Since it's going to happen anyway. And there's nothing I can do about it. Then I can stop being afraid."

"Perhaps," he agreed, closing the distance between them. He caught her up in his broad arms, and realized just how small, how fragile she was. How badly she was shaking. How afraid she was of this one thing.

_Yes, you did have the wrong person killed_, she had told him, that first night she came to Castle Doom, laid out underneath him, covered with deep scratches and marks.

He sighed. She was crying. He pulled her up so that her head was resting under his, and they lay together under the heavy red coverlet. "But perhaps you just need someone to chase the nightmares away." He crossed his arms behind his head. "See? I won't touch you unless you want me to. I don't want you to be afraid of me." He frowned into the darkness, realizing, to his surprise, that it was true. "We'll do something fun tomorrow, I promise. I didn't realize how alone you've been. I'm sorry." He frowned again, but that, also, was true, and he was not used to being sorry. "Goodnight, Charlotte." He lay perfectly still until she cried herself out and fell asleep on his chest.


	12. Chapter 12: Of Myths and Mist

Author's note: This was a particularly dark and difficult chapter to write. Let me warn you up front that **this chapter contains graphic violence and mild bad language. Strong PG 13 for violence associated with battle.** Not writing it this way would compromise its authenticity, though. You battle and weapons buffs should be stoked. Heart and Philip, this one's for you! And thanks to the rest of you for the reviews- Xia, wade, Rocky, cms, and Sarmi, your input was invaluable in putting together this chapter and the next.

Playlist: Remy Zero, The Golden Hum, and The Verve, their B sides collection

All standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Twelve:

Of Myths and Mist

The day the Siren Robeast was unleashed on Arus, Nyle Lochlan burned bread for the first time in his life.

His bread was popular, and Nanny, who ruled the kitchen, had looked him up and down when first appeared there, raised an eyebrow, tasted a roll, and declared that he was staying, and furthermore, that he was to be left alone. The kitchen girls swarmed him anyway. They seemed to find him terribly attractive, and the ruder he was to them, the worse it got. But at least he got to make his bread. It was his last link to his wife and his home, and he practiced it as fervently as he did his sword and magic.

For the thousandth time since arriving here with Allura and Kate, raving like a lunatic from the Leviathan poison coursing through his veins, he really missed the Isle of Mists. He missed his solitude and the stark beauty of the rocky beaches. He missed the gray days and the cool weather, the roaring fires he built on hearth and beach, and the way the mist cloaked him like an old friend. He missed the glow of candlelight and the lack of electricity, and the slow, easy pace of reading books and playing games that was the only recreation in its absence. He missed being so near a source of power as strong as the Northern Sea. But most of all, he missed not knowing how peculiar he was.

Here in the Castle of Lions, he was finding out.

Apparently, men here did not bake. They certainly didn't use magic. Nor did they carry their daughters with them everywhere, nor did they change diapers, or mix formula, or hold bottles for them. Nor did they sing lullabies, or make funny faces to make their daughters laugh. And they certainly didn't run from hordes of fawning young women.

He had never felt so lonely, or so crowded.

The only thing he did that was not peculiar to these people was his sword work. He was a Guardian, and as far as he knew, he was the last practitioner on Arus, and very probably the entire universe. He would teach his daughter, of course, but that meant he had to stay in form himself, and he worked hard at it, so that he could pass the knowledge down to her in as untainted a form as possible. So he rose early, every day, to start his dough and practice his sword, his daughter with him always.

The Black Lion pilot was the only other person who rose almost as early as he did. He had some kind of exercise he liked to perform, as well, and Nyle had gotten used to Keith's quiet presence in the kitchen as he made a pot of coffee before heading out to do whatever he did as the sun came up. The two worked in companionable silence, Nyle starting his dough while Keith slowly wakened under the influence of the strong, bitter brew the pilots from Earth seemed to find almost essential. Consequently, Keith often got first pick of the bread.

He was also the first person to watch him practice.

As a Guardian, he had not only himself to protect, but also his Ward, so he was, in essence, practicing two or three styles of combat simultaneously. He had to protect and attack for two people, because protecting the Ward was the sole point of the exercise. It was one of the reasons he had been picked to marry Princess Allura, so long ago, before Zarkon had come and changed all the rules. His style of combat, unique to his people, would have made him an invaluable body guard. He worked in spheres that moved around a central axis, the center, of course, being the Ward. At home, he had practiced with Cat, but here, in the Castle of Lions, he used Kate. He remembered Keith's look of alarm as he placed the baby in her carrier on the ground and began dancing around her with his sword, but after a few sweeps and circles, the Black Lion pilot relaxed into watchfulness.

A couple of days later, Keith appeared with his katana and claimed he badly needed some practice. Nyle knew he was merely being polite. Keith definitely did not need the practice. But Nyle was glad to show him what he knew, and to have a sparring partner. They had drawn quite an audience that day, including the princess and the Red Lion pilot, the two of them shirtless and sweaty, baby Kate at the center of two sharp, rapidly moving weapons, but he knew that the Black Lion pilot, as good as he was, would never get through his guard to touch his Ward. As Guardian, he would take the stroke himself before allowing that to happen. He was right; Keith never did.

And then, Keith brought him Pidge.

At barely fifteen, Pidge was just young enough to pick up the training. He was still growing, and his muscles still had time to adapt to the movements, unlike the older members of the Voltron Force. The Green Lion pilot took to it like he was born to it; Nyle played Ward while Pidge learned the movements. He got cut and hit a little, but mostly, he was glad to have someone to share his dying art with. He was grateful to Keith, and Pidge bloomed under the exercise and the mental focus demanded of him. "It gets him away from those computers all day," Keith told him as he brewed a pot of coffee one morning.

On the morning of the day the Siren was unleashed on Arus, Pidge showed up to practice in a terrible mood. It had been awhile since they'd practiced together, ever since Lotor decided to dump Robeast after Robeast on Arus. Nyle felt bad; there was nothing he could do to help the team with so-called 'normal' Robeasts. He knew of the attachment between Pidge and the abducted girl. He had nothing but sympathy for the loss of a loved one. So he was very glad to see Pidge that morning, and hoped practice would help let out some of the aggression.

Pidge assumed the role of attacker that morning. It was useful to learn the movements from both sides, Nyle had explained, and he could tell from the force and desperation of the Green Lion pilot's thrusts that he was highly agitated. He briefly contemplated forcing a period of meditation, but instead countered Pidge's wild attacks patiently, waiting until the young man was winded before disarming him. When he sent his sword flying across the courtyard, Pidge growled in frustration.

"Fighting and exercise is one of the best ways I have yet discovered to deal with the loss of my wife, Pidge," Nyle said, and Pidge felt guilty. He wasn't _married_ to Charlotte, or anything even close to it... "That, and making bread." The Water Mage smiled. "Now. Begin again."

"You and your bread," Pidge muttered, retrieving his sword. He lunged at his teacher...

And sliced him across the bicep as Nyle stood staring off into the distance, a blank look on his face, his sword arm slack. Pidge blinked, horrified, and dropped his own sword. He had never, ever, scored such a direct hit on his teacher. Even Keith couldn't get through his guard in a serious bout...

Nyle didn't even seem to notice. Blood dripped down his arm and spattered the stones beneath their feet. It took his daughter's sharp, sudden cries to bring him back to reality.

"Oh, man, Nyle, I am so sorry..." Pidge started to apologize.

His teacher looked at him as if he had forgotten who he was. Then his face hardened into a look so fierce Pidge was even more shocked than when he'd sliced the man in the arm. Nyle was disgustingly easygoing, and Pidge had never seen such a look. He didn't think Nyle had it in him...

He felt himself grabbed by the collar and dragged inside while Nyle snatched up Kate. "Our lives depend on how fast your team can assemble in Castle Control. Especially the princess. Get on your comm. unit _now_, and find them. And Koran. And then, everyone else not directly involved with the defense of this planet must go to the shelters. They must be barricaded in so that they cannot get out. Anyone who does get out will have to be hit with a blaster set on stun or they will die. No exceptions. Tell them that, Pidge," the last Water Mage on Arus said, breaking into a run through the corridors of the palace. "Tell them that a great evil approaches. Tell them we must fight a myth come to life."

VVVVV

Half the Force and Koran were already waiting in Castle Control when Nyle burst through the doors, dragging a gasping and white-faced Pidge behind him while holding a wailing Kate. Keith took one look at his face and almost tripped over himself getting to the main console. His fingers flew across the touch screen, activating the castle alarms and the brand new emergency alert intercom. A calm female voice announced "Attack imminent. All non- military personnel evacuate to the shelters immediately. Attack imminent. All non- military personnel evacuate to the shelters..." The calm voice over the intercom was an odd counterpoint to the shrieking alarms, but as long as it got the point across, Keith didn't care.

Lance came running into Castle Control, took one look at Nyle, who had yet to release his death grip on Pidge's collar, and swore colorfully. "I knew we were in deep shit when they told me you'd forgotten about your bread. It's more burned than I am..."

Allura suddenly gasped and dropped to her knees. She seemed to be having trouble breathing. "What _is_ that?" she gasped out. Nyle almost flung Pidge to the floor and ran to Allura. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up roughly. Keith wanted to protest, but didn't.

"Focus, Allura. You have to focus. Don't let it suck you in so soon. We must shield these people. There is no one else to deal with it besides you and me. Unless there is a Fire Mage hiding about?" She mutely shook her head. "No matter." He turned to address them all. "There is a Robeast seething with dark magic on its way. It should be entering Arus's atmosphere now, if Allura can feel it already."

"That's correct," Koran said, punching on a touch screen over Keith's shoulder. "We have one coffin just entering the atmosphere."

"Ok, Nyle," Keith said, putting himself between him and Allura. "Here's the part where you _calm down_ and tell us what's going on." He never thought he'd have to tell _Nyle_ to calm down. It chilled his blood.

"Who among you has read Homer's _Odyssey_?" he asked.

"You're talking about _ancient literature_ right now?" Lance said, gaping at him.

"I sense a Siren, darker and more powerful than anything I have ever heard of. I can already hear its song, as far away as it is."

"But those are just imaginary, old myths from a boring old story," Pidge said.

"Perhaps on Earth, they are only myth. But many myths have some basis in fact. Sirens are real. I learned of them from my parents, as part of my training." His eyes glazed over for a moment, but he shook himself, and continued. "I even heard one sing. I will remember it until the day I die."

"Yet you did not die?" Koran asked.

"Just like Odysseus, and in the same manner, too," Nyle replied with a smile, and Koran nodded, understanding.

"It shouldn't surprise anyone to hear me ask this, but what's a Siren?" Lance asked.

"You didn't pay attention in school..." Pidge said sadly.

Nyle ignored the banter. "A shape shifting creature that usually takes the appearance of a beautiful woman. Her song is the most alluring, entrancing thing you will hear in your entire life. Except that it is deadly. You will follow her song to its source, and then, she will kill you. Traditionally by drowning you, because Sirens are ultimately creatures of water, but in Robeast form, there is no telling. And this one is a powerful broadcaster. We cannot long continue this conversation, in fact."

"There was one here on Arus?" Allura asked, horrified.

"My education was not limited to this planet alone, princess. Some of my training took place on Riordan. They have Sirens and other monsters of the deep. But this one... to hear it from so far away... I knew it had to be dark magic, a Robeast, or some other monster. This witch, Haggar, she must have caught one, and changed it..."

Allura's eyes were huge. "What can we do?"

"We will have to shield ourselves, and the rest of the Force, so that we can only hear each other's minds. It's going to be tricky fighting it, because Allura is the only one who can hear us all. She will have to relay communications between the Force, in the air, Koran, here at the castle, and me, on the ground..."

"You're going in? On the ground?" Pidge said, looking at his teacher with a new respect.

"We've got vidscreens, and written communication, as well," Keith added. "Saran and his pilots have no mind speech capabilities. They can guard the shelters."

"Coffin on the ground," Koran announced.

Allura swayed where she stood. "Oh Nyle," she breathed, with a rapture that sounded almost sexual. Keith fought down a wave of alarm and irrational jealousy. "It's so _beautiful_..." She backed away from them, towards the door out of Castle Control.

Nyle swore. "It begins. Grab her," he told Keith, who grasped her tightly around the waist. Allura elbowed him in the stomach, and he grunted in surprise. Nyle reached her in seconds, placing both hands on Allura's head as she struggled against Keith. Pidge expected to see some glowing, or sparks, or _something_, but Allura merely sagged against Keith in relief.

_Thank you_, she said into their minds.

"I'll shield you now, and then shield the guards outside the shelters before I join you on the ground." He looked at Kate. "And leave you, little one," he whispered.

"Those shelters were built to keep Zarkon out, not to keep people in," Koran said worriedly.

"Pray they hold," Nyle said, starting with Pidge. "Anyone who gets through..." Pidge suddenly heard nothing, only saw Nyle's lips moving. _He's saying that we have to stun anyone who gets through_, Allura projected.

_Thanks, Allura,_ Pidge thought back, as Nyle moved around the room. Koran was the last person he touched.

_Come on, team,_ Keith thought, and they ran for their Lions.

VVVVV

_And just how are we supposed to fight _that_? _Lance projected. _Someone has a really sick sense of humor. _

_The same way we always do,_ Keith thought back, but even his thoughts seemed strained. The Lions were flying around the creature in circles, but farther back than they would have if they were dealing with a more normal Robeast.

_That looks like...oh hells..._ Allura wailed.

_Any chance we could try fighting blindfolded as well as deaf?_ Hunk wondered sheepishly as Yellow Lion flew around its back.

_You mean Helen Keller style? Sorry, couldn't help it,_ Lance thought as three of them groaned.

_Who's Helen Keller? _Allura wanted to know.

_No one, _four voices chorused in her head.

All five Lions held steady in formation far back from the fully emerged Siren Robeast. It was the same size as an average Robeast, but it looked nothing like any they had encountered before. It was much more attractive. In fact, it bore more than a passing resemblance to their blond haired, blue-eyed colleague.

And it was completely nude.

_Now I really want to kill it,_ Allura thought, Blue Lion rounding it sharply. _After I give it a dress of blood and guts_. They could feel her rage, mixed with more than a trace of embarrassment.

_I want you to hang back, Pidge. Cover Nyle, for now. The rest of you, standard procedure. Let's try and get a sense of..._ Keith trailed off as the Siren opened her mouth. If she was singing, they couldn't hear it, but they could see a heavy mist pour out of her mouth, snaking down her body until her form was obscured by it, settling finally around her feet. It was like a thick pool of cloudy water, as tall as the second floor of the castle.

_Whatever that is, I'm sure it's not good, but at least it's dressed,_ Allura thought.

Pidge brought Green Lion down to hover over a gray-cloaked figure on horseback that was trying desperately to hold on to the reins and his staff at the same time. _He's looking pretty unsteady there,_ Pidge observed.

_He wants me to say that he'd prefer written communication through his comm. unit, so we can all be on the same page, so to speak, but he has his hands full. He says he'd rather be on foot, but might need the maneuverability. _Allura paused as if listening. _Watch out for him, Pidge. He doesn't have much experience with horses._

_Anything like this in the Robeast files?_ Keith asked

_Negative, Keith, but we know it sings, somehow, so we might approach like it was screamer, _ Hunk reported.

_Good idea. But first, I want a reading on that mist stuff. Pidge, can you do an analysis without having to touch it? _Keith asked.

_Not the most thorough, Keith, but it's highly toxic. I'm reading at least thirty identifiable toxic gases, including radon and adamantine, and it's almost certainly got more,_ Pidge said.

_So stay away from contact with the mist,_ Keith said. _Stay at head level or above, and we'll have to rely on projectile..._

_Nyle's been thrown_, Pidge broke in. Sure enough, the Water Mage was sitting, dazed, on the ground. _It looks like his horse_...

The dark brown stallion, no doubt borrowed from the Fire Tribe, charged straight for the Siren. The Voltron Force watched in horror as the thick mist enveloped it, and the animal reared up, screaming, as its skin began to...melt. Its brown hide began to bubble, revealing flesh and blood beneath it, before that, too, began to bubble and burst. The animal pitched over onto its side, shaking all over, its layers of flesh, blood, and muscle gone, leaving nothing but bone behind. The Force stared, frozen in shock and horror, before jumping into immediate action like the close-knit team they were.

Green Lion jumped immediately in front of Nyle, who still sat unceremoniously on the ground. _Surround it_, Keith ordered grimly. _Lance at its four, Hunk, take seven; Allura, you and I are in the front. Take it's nine, and I'm on..._

Keith didn't get to finish as the thing opened its mouth in a roar they couldn't hear. But just because they couldn't hear sound did not erase its existence. Keith and Allura were thrown backwards through the air, crashing into the ground, by a force that felt as powerful as a whack from the strongest Robeast. And yet, the beautiful Siren hadn't so much as raised an arm...

As they shook off the impact and rose back into the air, Red Lion flew around its head in a fast arc. "Preparing to fire," Lance said, before letting loose with a barrage of torpedoes and lasers aimed right for its throat. The thing opened its mouth again, and the weapons missed their mark, blown off course by another wave of powerful sound. The weapons narrowly missed Hunk and exploded into the ground behind the Siren.

_Watch it! _ Hunk yelled, pulling Yellow Lion sideways. _Trying from its side,_ Hunk said, letting loose with all he had, the weapons exploding against the Siren's back like an intense display of fireworks. The creature roared as they found their mark, a gaping hole opening in the back of its shoulder. It spun around to face the Yellow Lion, almost preternaturally fast, and swung at it with ivory arms. Yellow Lion danced back, rocked by the sudden movement.

_At least we know it's not bullet proof_, Lance said, releasing his own arsenal now that the creature had its back turned again. As his weapons hit the Siren in the back of its other shoulder, it spun again, opening its mouth, but instead of waves of sounds that none of them could hear, the mist came pouring out of its mouth, and Lance did not have to be told to pull Red Lion sharply upward, escaping the mist of creeping death.

Keith struggled for calm, reaching for an attack plan that wouldn't come. _Team? Ideas? We can't get near it, Voltron won't be able to use Blazing Sword..._

_And the Axe won't work, _Lance seconded. _Direct contact weapons are out. We'd be hit by mist or blasts of sound._

_I can try a shield against the mist, but the sound waves are beyond me,_ Allura admitted.

_Actually, Hunk and I have been tinkering_, Pidge began.

That was when the people began to appear.

_Oh, no_! Allura cried out. _Keith! Behind you! The building crews must not have had time to evacuate..._

The Black Lion pilot cursed colorfully. At least a dozen men, still carrying the tools of their trade, came running over a low ridge, headed straight for the Siren with looks of pure rapture. _We're going to have to try and stun them, with the Lions,_ he said.

_That'll keep us from forming Voltron,_ Lance growled, but he was already bounding forward with Red Lion, aiming at the oncoming people. _And there's no guarantee we won't kill them ourselves. Blasts from the Lions are no joke, even on stun,_ he said. _Keith, you and I are the best marksmen._ It was not an idle boast. They had both received distinctions at the Academy, and routinely had the most accuracy during target runs._ This calls for precision._

_Allura?_ Keith asked. _These are your people. It's your call, princess._

Allura breathed a brief prayer. This was one of the things she hated most about being a princess. Her people's lives were in her hands. _We don't have a choice. That Robeast will kill them for sure, with you two there's a chance... _But Nyle was running, suddenly, towards the oncoming men. He had a blaster in each hand and was firing upon them. He managed to drop half of them before blasts from Red and Black Lions dropped the other six.

_Tell me about your tinkering, Pidge,_ Keith ordered calmly while he fired.

_We borrowed some of Charlotte's trillium encased slugs. Since the L-22s were sabotaged, we figured it was ok to..._

_Keith, Lance, behind you...please stop them!_ Allura cried out. Another group of people appeared on the ridge, a mix of men and women, this time, some carrying building tools, others, spades and shovels. _Where are they coming from?_

A message from Castle Control scrawled across their screens. BARRICADES HOLDING, BUT BARELY. SARAN AND HIS GUARDS SAY PEOPLE ARE BATTERING AGAINST THE DOORS.

Keith and Lance continued to pick people out from the oncoming crowd, while Nyle followed suit, doing his best to stay out of the Lion's way. He was knocked down by two young women who literally ran over him, looks of adoration on their faces as they ran straight for the Siren.

_Nyle says it's a powerful broadcaster, he doesn't know how far, for sure. Possibly the entire planet, he says. _Allura's voice was heavy with grief. _There's no telling how many will come, or from how far away. We have to form Voltron._

_But without the Lions, we can't stun them, princess, _Keith warned. _Some will die, until we can take this thing out._

_I know,_ she said softly. They could feel her grief, her tears. _Nyle says he will hold them off as best he can._

The Water Mage was shooting rapidly, and suddenly threw down his blasters. Holding his staff, he made a sweeping motion with his arms, and a wall of water appeared between the oncoming crowd and the Siren. _Blasters depleted_, Allura said, a note of panic in her voice. The two women who had gotten past Nyle ran into the mist, and the Force watched, powerless and horrified, as their skin began to bubble and the looks of rapture turned to screams.

_Now, team. Let's do it_, Keith ordered. Allura had never been more reluctant to form the giant robot, but she knew it was their only hope.

_It's a bow, of sorts,_ Pidge said as all five Lions climbed. _It will take both arms to shoot, but the arrowhead is packed with Charlotte's slugs. We can fire it from far away, and it should implode and erase it, rather than hoping we can blow enough holes in it._

_It sounds like it might work, _Keith said. _But Lance, you'll be firing, and we'll need precision. Aim for the back. If that arrow gets blown off course, we'll be erasing a chunk of Arus instead of Robeast. _Lance had no humorous remarks, for once. They could feel his tense focus. _Are you ready, team?_

"_Activate interlocks! _

_Dyna-therms connected. _

_Infra-cells up; _

_Mega-thrusters are go! _

_Form feet and legs; _

_Form arms and body; _

_And I'll form… the head!"_

If the Siren was surprised by Voltron's descent from the sky, it made no sign of it. Instead, it opened its eerily perfect rosebud lips and even more mist poured from it, settling about its feet. Even more people appeared, coming up behind it, this time, putting the monstrously beautiful Robeast between them and Nyle. There was no way he could reach them all. And this time, there were children.

_This is going to be a massacre_, Hunk said worriedly. _We need speed and time_.

_Nyle, NO!_ Allura screamed. _Please, I'll help you. Draw on me, if you can. Boiling water, boiling water..._she chanted, over and over, while they all wondered if she had lost her mind, if the specter of losing so many of her people had driven her over the edge. _Shields...trying to help him, guys... it's how he taught me shields...to pretend I'm boiling water..._

As people ran into the deadly mist, Nyle was running in too, and more than one Force member cried out in horror. They stopped when they realized he was encased by some kind of shimmering bubble, like soap on bathwater. _The children, Nyle,_ Allura said, tears in her voice and down her face, _if you have to choose. Be careful. Yes, I know. Boiling water, boiling water..._

_Blazing Arrow!_ Keith called out, into their minds, and a great shining bow appeared between Voltron's two Lion hands. As Red Lion drew back on the bright string of the fantastic new weapon, three things happened at once:

Nyle threw himself over two of the children, his shield protecting them and stopping the hideous transformation. Their skin had already begun the transformation in places, but there was no doubt Nyle had saved their lives. They would live. As they struggled against him, trying still to reach the Siren, he brought his fists down on the backs of their heads, knocking them out entirely. They could see the look of immense grief on his face as he did so, could see the pain it brought him to hurt children, but knocking them unconscious was the only way to stop their mad rush forward, and freed his hands to grab more people. His face contorted with effort, the shield around him expanded, and he tackled three more people, a young woman carrying a small child and an older boy. He repeated his earlier strategy and moved forward, his shield expanding as he went, each step seeming to cost him more and more effort as Allura gasped and stopped her mad chanting, all of her focused on pouring her abilities into Nyle....

A message from Koran scrawled across their screens. BARRICADES ARE DOWN. PEOPLE ARE LEAVING THE SHELTERS. TRAMPLING, CRUSHING. PROBABLE CASUALTIES. SARAN AND GUARDS CAN'T STUN THEM ALL. ACTIVATING CASTLE FORCE FIELD. MAYBE KEEP THEM IN. Keith silently applauded Koran's quick thinking.

And a huge shining arrow appeared, literally quivering on its string. Lance aimed at the small of the beautiful, treacherous, monstrous creature's pale neck and, holding his breath, loosed the arrow.

It found its mark. The beautiful Siren turned on them, a blast of sound so powerful pouring from its beautiful lips that it knocked the robot defender to his knees. It swatted at the arrow's entry point, looking annoyed, and then alarmed as its neck began to bulge outward. Its cheeks and forehead followed suit, its beautiful face bubbling outward in spheres, not unlike the effect its mist had on the poor, writhing souls at its feet.

_How many slugs did you pack into that thing?_ Keith asked.

_About a dozen_, Hunk answered, awed and horrified.

_Remember the squid Robeast? We had to cut you guys loose, in case you got sucked in with it,_ Lance reminded them urgently.

_Nyle!_ Allura screamed. _You have to get out! Now! That thing's going to implode, and you may be sucked up with it...then drag them with you, dammit! As many as you can, but get yourself out! That's a direct order from your sovereign!_

Nyle threw two children over his shoulder and grabbed two more unconscious people, but when he realized he was going to have to leave some of them behind, he stopped. The Robeast swayed and banged at its head, which was swollen and bulging all over, now. Nyle ripped a woman's belt from around her waist and began tying together the piteous few he had been able to save by the hands. Slowly, painfully, he pulled them behind him, dragging four with him out of the mist, somehow managing to leave the rest of them shielded as he went.

The beautiful Siren opened her mouth in what looked like one long, powerful howl and dropped to its knees. Her head began to crumple inward, her mouth forever silenced as the almost magical science of the McClain Corporation took effect. After her head had expanded to grotesque proportions, it began to retract inward, pulled into nothingness by the molecular disintegration caused by the tiny trillium-encased uranium slugs Pidge and Hunk had raided from the L-22's modified rail guns. The rest of her followed, disappearing into a rapidly decreasing ball, pulling the mist that cloaked her with it. Nyle made one last effort to drag the people he'd saved out of the dissipating mist. Allura cried out. _Get out, Nyle! Now! We don't know what's going to happen!_ But he was still in the thick of it, still shielded, grabbing and dragging unconscious people to the edges of the remaining mist.

They all breathed a silent sigh of relief when the mist flowed upward into the disappearing Robeast, leaving the bodies behind. It was a terrible, gruesome sight that would live with them forever, but it meant that Nyle, and the unconscious people he had been unable to take with him, would not be sucked into nothingness along with the Robeast and its deadly mist.

A very long, shocked silence ensued. The ground was littered with upwards of fifty bodies in various stages of decomposition. Another dozen or so were living, but unconscious. Nyle had collapsed on the ground, panting and doubled over, and Allura appeared to be retching in between her sobs in her Lion.

_Sweetheart?_ Keith asked, using the endearment in front of the entire team for the first time. _I'm not going to ask if you're ok, but can you make it? Back to the castle?_

_Yes... _she sobbed brokenly.

_Can you drop our shields? _Lance asked gently_._

_Not...not without...touching you,_ she wailed. _Maybe Nyle can...I'll ask..._ Lance had a new respect for this odd man who baked bread with an almost religious zeal as he nodded towards the robot defender and grasped his staff. _He'll try, he says,_ Allura said. Nyle grasped the staff tightly and closed his eyes while sweat broke out across his forehead. The effort lasted for about a minute before he collapsed on his back, unconscious. _No, and he needs Med Center, and healing, and I don't know if I can do it,_ Allura said, and they all heard the hysteria in her voice.

_Easy, angel_, Lance said. _I'm supposed to be the basket case around here, and I intend to hang onto the title alone._ As the Lions disengaged, Red and Black Lions hung back, heading back to the castle with Blue Lion between them. They all shared in her silent sobs. They hadn't lost so many people since Lotor's first attack that had killed the entire Royal Guard. The Lions flew back towards the castle to see how many casualties awaited them there, too. None of them even had the energy or the sense to curse Doom to the blackest of hells.

VVVVV

Dr. Gorma was waiting for them. Docking bay, by far the largest place in the castle, even with the Lions in it, had been turned into an emergency triage area. It was closest to the main hall, where the ensorcelled civilians had all rushed in their efforts to get to the Siren. Several dozen Arusians were laid out on gurneys, tables, and even the floor. Saran and his guards burst through the doors, carrying Nyle and some of the survivors. Dr. Gorma shook his head at the shaking, sweating, pale Water Mage. As Allura left her Lion, in slightly better shape, but not by much, she held each of her teammates by the head with shaky hands, and they felt their sense of sound return in a rush. She then collapsed into a heap on the floor. Keith scooped her up and placed her on a gurney next to Nyle. Dr. Gorma hovered over her. "Magical hangover," she told him, smiling weakly before rolling on her side to throw up.

She motioned Saran and his guards over, and Koran as well, as he left Castle Control to hover anxiously over her. "Allura? Are you sure you're able?" Keith asked, concern in his dark, grieved eyes.

She nodded, touching Saran with shaking arms. "It's such a small thing, and I couldn't save them, so many of them," she said, and suddenly she was sobbing as she laid hands on the rest of the ones Nyle had shielded. With each touch, with every shield dropped, her shaking worsened.

"You did an excellent job, Princess," Koran told her, taking one of her shaking hands in his own. "I'm proud of you, my dear." He turned to the rest of them. "I'm proud of you all."

Nyle moaned next to them, still unconscious. Dr. Gorma shook his head, almost angrily. "Nothing I can do about magical hangovers," he mumbled.

"We'll get over it," Allura said. "We were working in our element." She looked at the still-unconscious Nyle. "I can think of only one thing that might help," she added, and suddenly Nanny was there, holding a crying baby.

Keith took the infant in his arms, and Allura felt her heart flip within her. She could imagine it was hers, hers and Keith's, and she felt her resolve return. She _would _ make this planet safe again, for her children, for Nyle's daughter, for the ones who had made it through the awful ordeal, who had already lost so much... Keith saw her watching, and his smile was sad and tender all at once. He cradled the baby close to him, shushing and rocking her, before laying her against her father's slowly rising chest. "She likes to hear heartbeats," he whispered. The two of them, father and daughter, connected once again, as they almost always were, relaxed into a more peaceful sleep, Kate's tiny fingers curled against Keith's hand as he held her anchored there, to her suddenly peaceful and sleeping father.

There was something about the sight of them, father and daughter, powerful Water Mage and helpless infant, so dependant on one another, finding peace in the midst of so much pain and grief and apocalypse, that touched them all, and in the midst of their grieving, they remembered what it was they fought for: peace, hope, family, and home, but most of all, and most powerful, was love.


	13. Chapter 13: Stockholm Syndrome

Author's notes: I get drawn in to writing this thing and I often forget some very important thank yous and acknowledgements. To Mertz, because her story Sirens is fabulous, and I thought about it when I created a Siren Robeast. And also to Allura Blue, because Nyle uses the same name as a nickname for Allura. It's cute and it's a good nickname for her. Thanks, too, to Harmony Winters for her useful and positive feedback. To Heart, especially, for the list of Voltron weaponry, including Vehicle Voltron. Xia and Mertz, I can't say it enough. The Interludes would not exist at all if not for you two. Wade wells (I so needed to hear that, you have no idea!), cms, Rocky, Philip, and the rest, thanks for bearing with me! (Drumroll) And now it's warning time! **This chapter contains suggestive adult situations. More than one.**I think that's it.

Playlist: The National, The Verve, B sides again, Sia, Cat Power... it was a long chapter...

All the usual disclaimers apply: I don't own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Thirteen:

Stockholm Syndrome

She awoke between silken sheets in a bed that was not her own. Of course, the bed she had slept in just the other night was not her own bed, either; not really. But she had come to think of it as hers, throughout this long ordeal that had stretched on in a blur of time, days blending one into the other with nothing to mark their passing but wardrobe changes and elegant, terrifying dinners with the Crown Prince of Doom. She had no real sense of how much time had passed since she'd been here, and it gave her whole existence an edge of unreality. Things felt fuzzy and slow. She wasn't sure if she didn't prefer it that way. If she had a clock and calendar, she could easily see herself watching them anxiously, marking off the passing of days, watching the clock tick, wondering how her loved ones fared, if she had been gone long enough for them to miss her.

She rolled onto her stomach and buried her head in her pillow. She knew there was no one on Earth who would miss her. Certainly not the Board. They had hated the changes she brought when she took the helm after her father's death and had fought her at every turn. She wondered, with a wicked smile, how they were liking the current management and the changes _he_ brought. The staff of Highland Hall? Her bodyguards? She sighed, burrowing deeper into the luxurious sheets and pillows. It wasn't until she had come to Arus that she would even have considered that question. Did they miss her yet? And who, and how much? She saw their faces behind her closed eyes. Lance, watching her anxiously but pretending not to, making it his personal quest to make her laugh as much as possible. Pidge, his face full of excitement and light when he looked at her, and something else, maybe. Hunk with his loud music, a tool of some kind forever in his hand. Koran, who had made her coffee just as she liked it. And the others...she wondered. That beautiful red haired girl who loved her brother? The princess and her commander? Her mother? Her mother...

She rolled onto her back, her arms just visible through her nightclothes. Some thoughts were best left alone. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she thought about taking a nap. That was happening a lot, lately. But then again, what else was there to do but nap in the big silk bed...

No, she decided sleepily. She was better off without clocks and calendars. If she'd had one, she would have worried herself sick over her birthday, and maybe done something foolish to herself as it approached. As it was, it had taken her entirely by surprise. She had signed her life away to the Prince of Doom. She belonged to him now, as surely as the bed she was lying in. It was better to live only from moment to moment. She had no future here, and no past.

And then the night before came back to her in a rush, and she remembered marching into the Prince of Doom's bedchamber, demanding to know why he had dared to leave her alone. Suddenly, she was laughing at herself, remembering his baffled expression, at the sheer ridiculousness of her visit. What had she hoped to accomplish, besides that which she had originally sought to avoid? She had cried herself to sleep on his chest, Lotor, scourge of the Denubian Galaxy. As she laughed at herself, she happened to look up, and realized that Lotor's canopied bed was not a canopy at all. Rather, it was a large oval mirror draped with silken scarves over the posts holding it up. She stared at the giggling girl in Lotor's bed and tried to recognize herself, the always reserved Charlotte McClain with the serious face and don't-touch-me attitude, and that girl simply wasn't there. Instead, she saw a young woman with bright eyes and cheeks pink from laughing at herself, stretched out in a bed with red silk sheets and a bejeweled red coverlet, wearing a sheer white sleeveless nightgown that was little better than being naked, and _two_ robes that had fallen down to her elbows and did nothing to cover her. The stranger in the mirror looked _vibrant_ and alive. The stranger in the mirror looked the way she felt when she flew. She laughed even harder, alone in Lotor's bed, thinking about how funny it was that she felt more alive than ever having been confronted with the specter of her own death.

But perhaps not. He'd had plenty of chances to kill her, or to beat her, rape her, or do a million other things she'd heard he did to people. Other than when she'd first arrived. She frowned, pondering. He _had_ been violent, when she'd first arrived. But he hadn't been violent in a quite a while. Was the violent side of him gone? The young woman in the mirror regarded her soberly now. _You know all about violence and violent people_, the young woman in the mirror said. _You know that doesn't happen. You know you had better keep watch, because the violence always leaks back out, even when he comes to you after, crying and sorry, bringing presents and promises..._The young woman in the mirror looked at her with a warning plain on her face.

Charlotte, feeling sleepy again, decided to ignore her.

She rolled back over, wondering where he had gone and what she was supposed to do with herself now, and did her best to bury herself in his bed and not think about things. There was nothing but here and now. Nowhere else and no one....

She raised her head when she heard yelling, coming back to herself with a start. Two voices, raised in anger. And strangely enough, she recognized them both, one much better than the other. And, most strangely of all, the voice she knew best wasn't yelling at _her_ for a change. It was yelling at Lotor.

She looked around for his huge robe, but it was gone. She thought about trying to wrap the coverlet around her, but that was just ridiculous. And very cumbersome. With a sigh, she wrapped the two sheer robes around her scrap of a nightgown and padded down the hall in bare feet.

No one noticed her at first. She stood in the doorway of Lotor's personal quarters, looking at a private transmission in what must have been his receiving room, or something like it. It was much more formal than his bedroom. The Crown Prince of Doom stood in front of a massive vidscreen with his arms crossed and a look on his face that usually sent people running. She could see loose silk pants peeking out from underneath the robe she had worn the night before. Before him, grouped around a long table in a plush room she remembered well, sat the entire Board of Directors of McClain Aeronautics and Industrials. And standing at the head of it, her face flushed from yelling, stood Elena Kragen, vice-president of the company and acting director of day-to-day operations in her absence.

Charlotte hated her.

It was mutual.

Elena Kragen had carried on a long-term affair with her father, and had fully expected to receive total control of the company upon his death. It had come as a nasty shock when she had not. Instead, her former lover's quiet and insignificant daughter had inherited everything, held in trust for her until the ridiculously young age of seventeen by her alcoholic, drug addicted mother. Even worse, Charlotte had dared to implement changes whether Kragen cared or not. The woman had always been horrible to her mother, and to herself, and to Lance, flaunting the affair at every possible opportunity, which was often, since family and business were so irrevocably intertwined for the McClains. Charlotte remembered that she had been instrumental in sending her brother away, and that she had tried to talk her father into sending her away too, to a gilded cage of a boarding school, with rage. Apparently, Kragen was as stupid as she was cruel, because she was not only _yelling_ at the Crown Prince of Doom, but she was also refusing his commands, telling him, instead, that things had to be some other way, that he just didn't understand corporate business, and that he had best let her handle things her way. Charlotte shook her head, incredulous. It was the exact same speech Kragen had given her at almost every Board meeting she'd attended since her father's death. But unlike herself, she knew Lotor was not one to tolerate yelling and counter-mandates. She inched a little further into the room, intrigued.

"We simply aren't capable of filling your order that fast, your Majesty," Kragen said, her cold gray eyes snapping. "We don't have the production capacity. The L-22 is still in the experimental stage. We have much to work out before we can..."

"Then why do you have two squadrons being sent to Neros as we speak, and another three to Galaxy Garrison?" Lotor asked, his arms still crossed, his face more thunderous by the minute.

Kragen sputtered, clearly taken aback. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have no knowledge of such things," she said.

"Lying to the Crown is an offense punishable by death here on Doom," Lotor said quietly, and Kragen paled. "However, you are not on Doom. Yet." He gave her a predatorial smile, flashing teeth. "So I will tell you again, deliver me three squadrons of these L-22 fighters. You have three days. Take them from these other shipments, if you must. Tell them it's a favor to _me_, and they'll understand." He glowered at her, and she glowered back.

It was then that Kragen noticed her. "Well, if isn't little Charlotte McClain. How nice." She swept her eyes up and down Charlotte's body, taking in her attire. "You look as if you're enjoying your change in status. What did that contract call you? A _concubine_?" She almost spit the word. "You know, your Majesty, on Earth that word is interchangeable with mistress, or even," she stared coldly at Charlotte. "Whore."

Charlotte charged into the room, her hands clenched into fists, not caring that she was probably exposing herself to every member of the Board and not noticing the cold rage on Lotor's face. "You would know, Elena Kragen, all about being a _whore_, wouldn't you?" The other members of the Board whispered and shifted nervously in their seats. Charlotte spoke to them, too. She no longer had to deal with these people, and strangely enough, she no longer cared. "Who among you didn't know about it? Any of you? Did any of you care? How many of you knew what my father was like, and turned a blind eye, caring more for your bonuses and company mansions than the fact that he was an abusive drunken bastard who was sleeping with _her_! And when I disappeared, did any of you even _notice_, let alone care? How many of you asked after my welfare, or if I was even still _alive_?" She had tears in her eyes as she stomped her foot with rage.

Lotor stared at her. Once again, she surprised him. Not only did her cheeks flame and her eyes spark when she was angry, enhancing her normally subtle beauty, he knew he could give her one small thing, something they both wanted. This Kragen woman was about to be very sorry there had been a change in management.

But before he could speak, a small man in a white coat with crooked glasses and a bow tie stood up, shaking, in the back of the room. He looked from her to the Prince of Doom and back again, took a deep breath, and walked, literally quaking with fear, to the head of the table, opposite Elena Kragen. Lotor looked at him quizzically, and the rest of the Board seemed surprised as well. But not Charlotte, Lotor noticed. She lit up like the sunrise at the sight of this odd little man.

"I did, Miss Charlotte." He darted a quick, frightened look at the Prince of Doom before turning entirely to her. "I asked about you. I tried to find you, when you disappeared. I was so worried." The little man removed his skewed glasses and wiped them on his coat. He had tears in his eyes. "I am so relieved to see you, alive and... whole. We... I spoke to your brother," he said in a rush, "trying to find you, and you are much loved and missed..."

"That's enough," Lotor said, at the mention of Lance. The little man nodded, resigned. "But he did ask after you, and as you all can see, she is quite unhurt."

"Yes, _quite_," Elena Kragen sneered. Charlotte blushed and crossed her arms across her chest.

"It's good to see you too, Dr. Christopher." She smiled warmly at him. "You may be the _only_ thing I've missed on Earth, in fact." The little man positively beamed. "I think of you every time I eat a gingersnap," and he laughed.

"Well, I still have a jar of them in the research lab, waiting for you," but then he looked at Lotor, who was still scowling, and he looked at her sadly before shuffling back to his seat.

"So we understand one another, then. Three days. Three squadrons. I don't care how you do it, but do it, _or else_. If you do not, you will force me to relocate corporate headquarters to Planet Doom so that I may better oversee operations." Lotor bared his teeth. "I may do it anyway. Oh, and..." he frowned and looked at Charlotte. "What is her name, my dear?"

"Kragen," Charlotte snarled.

"Yes, Kragen. You are fired. You have five minutes to get out of the building. You will return any company property, including land, vehicles, expense accounts, and servants, in less than one hour. If you don't, I'll have you arrested and charged with theft and trespassing under Earth law, and then have you extradited to Doom for punishment, where I will personally whip you for insulting my _wife_ before throwing you into the Pit of Skulls." Kragen stared at him, dumb founded, before opening her mouth to argue. Lotor held up his hand. "Four minutes and thirty seconds." She turned white and, giving Charlotte a look full of hate, bolted from the room. Charlotte's jaw dropped. Lotor looked smug. "And you. Bow tie and glasses. Come up here." The odd little man shuffled forward, completely terrified now. Charlotte started to protest, but Lotor stood suddenly in front of her. "You will take her place. That includes her salary, and whatever other privileges she enjoyed. Pray to your gods that you have more sense than your predecessor."

Charlotte had just enough time to see a look of total confusion on her old mentor's face before Lotor cut the connection.

He turned to her, disturbingly close. "You weren't meant to see that," he said, looking her over from head to toe, but not with displeasure.

"Why three squadrons?" she asked, not really expecting an answer.

She got none. Lotor merely shook his head at her, and she nodded.

"_Wife_?" she asked him next, and it was his turn to nod.

"A secondary one, but yes. I had no idea what unpleasant connotations the word concubine carried on your home world, my lady. I will not have the mother of my future children called by such names."

She thought about that, and blushed furiously. His future children.

He reached out and uncrossed her arms. She jumped. "Ssshh, I just want to see how you're healing," he said, slipping the robes down and off her shoulders. "How your wounds are healing," he said, looking at her steadily as both robes fell to the floor. He ran his hands down her shoulder, tracing the scratches that had faded into the pink lines of new scars with his thumbs. She shivered. He ran his hands lightly back up her arms and stopped at her shoulders, his hold firm, thumbs lightly massaging the marks that had been puncture wounds. "They seem to be healing nicely," he said, pulling her against him by the shoulders. "Ssshh," he said again as she tried to pull away. "I just want to check your other injury." He held her against him with one arm while he tilted her head back and slightly to the side with the other. "If I recall, you had an injury on the back of your head," he whispered, his lips against her neck. His fingers probed the back of her head. His lips moved against her ear. "Perhaps it's here," and his fingers moved down the back of her neck, lightly, and she gasped under his touch. He tilted her head to the other side. "Or perhaps...here..." and his fingers were twined in her hair, his lips on her neck, now, his hot breath grazing her skin. He pulled her head up to his, his lips touching hers as he whispered, "I can't seem to find it. You must be fully recovered, my lady."

And then he kissed her, much longer and harder than he did the night she signed his contract, sobbing and covered with spilled wine. She froze in surprise, as she always did, but he did not stop, nor did she pull back. Their words from the night before replayed themselves.

_Will you come to me?_

_Yes._

She felt him slip off his own robe and place it around her shoulders. "I would not want you to be cold, my lady," he whispered, his lips still pressed to hers.

"Charlotte," she said absently, his robe like a blanket around her, while she remained pressed up against him. _Moment to moment, no future, no past_, she told herself as his strong, sometimes cruel hands came up behind her to grasp her by the waist.

"Charlotte," he whispered against her lips. She felt herself being lifted up, as if she weighed nothing at all, held against him, covered by his robe, as he carried her down the corridor. "Are you afraid of me this morning?"

"No," she whispered into his chest, surprised. "Not _of_ you. Just of... _being_ with you..." she answered truthfully.

"Well, Charlotte," he said, carrying her into a room that was familiar to her, darkening the lights, somehow, as he went. "That's not the same thing at all, now is it?"

VVVVV

Kiari sat cross legged in the dim maintenance ducts of Castle Doom, her hands resting on her tightly clenched thighs, trying to forget the sight she had just seen. Anger and sadness warred within her. She was unsure of what to do, unsure of what kind of action her honor required. She might have prevented this. If she had been quicker, if she had understood how truly evil... but she had not been quick enough.

She forced her breathing to slow and her mind to calm itself. She had been badly shaken, and the task at hand required concentration and focus. She could not afford the mistakes that would come from an agitated mind. She still had to rescue the girl, after all. That was why she had come, the purpose of her mission, and she was so close. She could not allow her resolve to weaken. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, closing her eyes against the dim light that poured through the air vent that serviced the room below her, the room she wished she had not seen, but knew she had been meant to know about. It seemed that there was more than one reason she had come to Doom.

She had known that there might be a child. They had all known, although none of them spoke of it. And as the Black Lion pilot seemed to recover, pulled out of his dark, bitter rage by the princess's love for him and by her own Red Lion pilot's loyalty and love, they had ceased to think about it much at all. But here it was, in the room beneath her, the reminder and the proof of the tangled twists of fate that had befallen the Black Lion pilot at the hands of her very own tribe. He had come to the Fire Tribes expecting to undergo a trial to secure aid for his princess and for Arus, and had been tricked by the woman in the room below her into an act that had farther reaching consequences than any of them had dreamed at the time.

Morgana, Clan Leader of the Fire Tribes before her, cast out and disowned for witchcraft of the darkest kind, and for betraying her people and her planet, lay sleeping in the room below her, curled up on a lush green sofa in front of a fireplace in one of the better guest rooms of the royal family's wing of Castle Doom. It was the kind of room that important guests would stay in. That she was not a prisoner here was clear; there were no guards at the door, and she had slaves standing at attention against the wall, ready to attend to her needs when she woke. Her red hair, so like Kiari's own, caught the gold light from the fire, and her green eyes, exactly the same shade as her own, were closed. She lay on her back, one arm flung across the green sofa, and the other arm flung across the blanket draped over her, cradling her pregnant belly through its golden embroidered surface.

Morgana, the witch, carried the child of the Sword Bearer, Keith Kogane.

Morgana, who had taught her magic before turning to the dark magic herself.

Morgana, who was her aunt, and thus the child, her own cousin.

Of course she would be on Doom. Morgana believed the child she carried would be the most powerful magician and warrior the universe had ever known, that he would conquer planets and crumble empires to dust beneath his feet. Where else would she come but to the source of the dark magic that had no doubt given her these visions? Doom, and Haggar, must have been the source of her teachings in dark magic. Kiari's own people certainly did not practice the black arts. Her aunt's defection had grieved her more than she had ever let on. However ambitious, however misguided she knew her aunt to be, Kiari had never dreamed she was _evil_. It had hurt her, still hurt, to know that the last blood relation she had in the universe had betrayed her own people and the Sword Bearer himself, creating an innocent hostage to her evil.

She pulled her knees to her chest and tried not to cry. What was she supposed to do? She had to tell him. Keith had a right to know. Would want to know. No matter what cost to his sanity. And just when he was finding peace, and love, with the princess of Arus, to whom he was bound more strongly than life or death. Bonds that extended to her own Red Lion pilot. She had a responsibility here, as well, for the child would be her own blood kin, and she had none other in the universe now, since Morgana had been cast out. The child, no matter how unfairly or ill-omened it had come to be, was an innocent, and did not deserve to be raised here on Doom, knowing only dark magic and eternal twilight and evil.

Her hands, when she unclenched her fists, had bloody crescent moons on the palms where her nails had dug into her skin.

She took a steadying breath before she peeked back into the room. Morgana had not moved. Kiari looked closely at her belly, calculating. She leaned back against the tunnel wall. It would be a few months more. Time enough to tell Keith. Time enough to come up with a plan. Time enough to run another rescue mission, for although the Black Lion pilot must be told and his wishes respected, she would not suffer any blood of hers to be raised by the dark witches of Doom. She would return for the child, whether he willed it or not.

But she had come to know Keith, and she knew he would never abandon a child of his, however unwanted and ill-omened, to Doom, no matter what it cost him. No matter what it cost any of them.

She backed slowly down the maintenance duct, following the marks she had made with the chalky rock she'd salvaged from the Pit of Skulls. Before she could do anything about the sleeping witch and the child she carried, she had to find Lance's sister, and take her home.

VVVVV

"She looks like you," Keith Kogane said, propped up on one elbow on the side of Allura's canopied bed, smiling at the woman he loved, a gurgling baby who was very interested in trying to stuff her toes into her mouth between them.

Allura laughed, Keith's favorite sound in the universe. _Well, maybe my second favorite_, he corrected himself, remembering her by the fireplace in the Castle of Mists, and the soft sounds she'd made there. It seemed like so long ago. _Too long ago_, he thought, surprised at the sudden wave of need that swept through him as he watched her play with the baby. Her heavy golden hair spread out all around her, she held a piece of it over little Kate's face, smiling as the baby let go of her toes and reached for the shiny gold object. Allura didn't stop smiling even when the baby pulled fiercely on her hair, stuffing it, too, into her greedy rosebud mouth. "_Oww_," she protested, but she was laughing even still. She suddenly looked at Keith anxiously. "She keeps trying to eat things. Do you think she's hungry? Should we feed her?"

"No, that's just babies," Keith said, his heart full as he watched them both. "She'll put everything she finds into her mouth for about the next year or so. And Nanny fed her in Med Center, while she was still with Nyle, so she shouldn't be hungry yet. If she's hungry, she'll let you know. She won't stop wailing," he added dryly.

"How is Nyle?" Allura asked, still staring at the baby. She had removed her hair from Kate's rosebud mouth and was counting her tiny fingers, amazed that they all fit around just one of hers. "And how do you know so much about babies?" she asked suspiciously, looking up at him with mock severity. "Is there something you haven't told me about?" she teased.

"I don't know anything about babies, except that I love to watch you with them," he whispered, taking a lock of her hair between his own fingers. "I just know about _this_ baby because I took care of her while you and Nyle were throwing balls of mist at each other not so long ago." He rubbed her lock of hair against his lips, a teasing smile on them. "I wonder how this tastes..."

"Yew, gross! And you didn't answer my question."

"Which one?" he whispered, moving his hand so that it was completely tangled in her hair now.

"Nyle," she murmured, watching his fingers play in her hair. Kate squealed in indignation, yanking on Allura's finger and trying to stuff it into her mouth. Allura sighed and turned her attention back to the greedy baby between them. "How is he? Any change?"

"No real change," Keith said. "He's still unconscious, but his vital signs remain stabilized, too. It's like he's just sleeping, or something, and won't wake up." He looked down at Kate. "Not even for this little one," he said regretfully.

Allura rolled over onto her back, scooping up the baby and tucking her under her chin. "I feel so terrible about that. I feel like I should be able to fix it, to bring him out of it or something. But I've tried everything I know..." she whispered, her eyes haunted, snuggling into the baby.

"You know he didn't have time to train you as well as he would have liked. You have to stop blaming yourself for that," he told her. "It's not your fault."

"Maybe someone who's better at magic. If Kiari gets back..." Allura made a face, realizing what she'd just said. Her face crumpled. "Oh, it just gets worse and worse, when you stop to think about it. _When_ Kiari gets back, with Charlotte in tow, maybe she can reach him."

They were silent for a moment, each of them thinking of any of the number of things that were wrong or bad or dangerous about their lives at the moment.

"How's Lance?" she asked, voicing her single greatest concern. They could both feel his pain, both emotional and physical, and it was excruciating. Allura hurt for him, and she worried about him. She had been spending as much time with him as she could, before the Siren Robeast attack had landed her flat on her back, confined to her quarters. She made a face. She'd had to make a choice, either here or Med Center. It took her less than a quarter of a second to decide. There was no way she could have Keith to herself like this in Med Center, and, as her self-appointed bodyguard, it was only natural that he step in as nurse, as well. She smiled, a little wickedly. She could get used to the way things were, actually. It was possible she was going to need a lot of help, a whole lot, over the next few days. Help bathing and dressing and falling asleep...

And then she felt guilty. The only reason she was this unsupervised was because of the sheer devastation of the Siren attack. They were short castle staff and personnel of all kind, and everyone was working extra shifts taking care of the injured or picking up slack.

Keith sensed the turmoil of her thoughts and ran a single finger down her cheek. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, drawing her out of her whirling, dark musings. She shivered at his touch. "I spent most of the morning with Lance, forcing him to help me with the little terror here," he said teasingly, because Kate was undoubtedly the best behaved baby in the world. Everyone said so. Not that either he or Lance would know; neither one of them knew the first thing about babies. But Keith had been the very first to volunteer to watch after her, as long as he wasn't directly involved in combat or security measures. When that happened, he brought her to Allura, who was still weak and shaky and confined to quarters, or to Nanny, who always seemed happy to see the little one. He had, after all, been her babysitter during their time on the Isle of Mists, and he loved to bring her here, both because he loved to watch Allura play with her and care for her, and because little Kate was a link to the time they had spent there, when Allura had become his.

Allura smiled, snuggling closer to Kate, inhaling her sweet baby smell deeply. "And how did he take that? I'm trying to envision it, and I keep seeing Lance with a very panicked look on his face..."

Keith laughed. "No. He loved it. He spent most of the time holding her in a kind of sandwich hold with both arms, pretending she was an airplane and making flying noises. When he wasn't doing that, he was telling her all about his exploits in the funniest voices he could make. She loved it."

Allura laughed. "I can see that. And he'd better watch his language around her. But I hope he can come spend some time with us soon. I'm really worried about him."

"Don't be, sweetheart. I have it on good authority that as soon as he gets the all-clear, he'll be up here as soon as he can, and we won't be able to get rid of him. No matter what. Told me so himself." Keith looked at the baby tucked under Allura's head, laid across her chest, and held up a single finger to his mouth. "Ssshh. She's fallen asleep."

Allura looked panicked. "What do I do?" she asked anxiously.

Keith looked at her, thinking. With a look of total seriousness, he told her, "Well, a baby falling asleep is a serious situation." Allura nodded, listening intently. "No! Don't nod! In fact, don't move at all..." Allura froze, her blue eyes huge and tense. "And then, you have to try to stop breathing too because movement of any kind might wake her, and that would be dreadful. She'd need to be rocked and loved on and put _back_ to sleep..."

She seemed to be taking him seriously for just a minute, her breathing actually slowing, before she made a terrible face. "You! You are in so much trouble!" she squealed softly.

"Oh, really?" Keith asked, a world of possibilities suddenly opening up. "What are you going to do to me? You're trapped by a sleeping baby. If I did this, for instance," He leaned over to give her a long, lingering kiss that left her slightly breathless. "You couldn't do anything about it, because you're trapped."

"Monster," she whispered, her eyes shining.

"And you couldn't do anything about this, either," he said, moving to nibble at her ear.

"Heartless. Cruel," she pronounced, her eyes bright.

"Or this," he said, his hand moving down to rest on her thigh. She held her breath to keep from gasping.

"Keith Kogane, you had better get this baby off me right now, and put her down in her cradle in the sitting room, or you are going to be so very very sorry," she promised, her eyes bright and a bit wild. It had been a very long time since she'd had her Keith to herself. They'd been fighting Robeast after Robeast, or trying to plan rescues, or dealing with a seemingly endless parade of injured friends and loved ones. "That's a direct..."

"Order from your sovereign," he finished for her, picking the baby up with firm but gentle hands. Her heart clenched at the sight of him holding her, his soldier's hands seeming so huge with the sleeping infant cradled within them. She felt another part of her flame, suddenly, with need and desire, as she watched how careful and protective he was of this helpless, sleeping creature....

"And Keith?" He looked at her, his dark eyes and wild hair catching her breath. "Hurry up. She might wake up."

He kissed her, more fiercely than he had when Kate had been sleeping on her, and promised, "I'll be swift." He disappeared into her sitting room, and she could hear him humming as he settled the baby. She smiled and rolled into the middle of her bed. He was such a contradiction. Such a puzzle. As soon as she thought she'd figured him out, he'd surprise her, like volunteer to take care of infant, and actually be wonderful at it. She stretched out, curling her toes, thinking of how wonderful he was, of how much she loved him, when she felt him sliding up next to her on the bed.

"Was that fast enough?" he asked, pulling her to him with both arms, so that she lay on top of him, the whole length of her body laid out on top of his, her golden hair spilling all around her face like a lion's mane.

"No," she said, putting her hands on the sides of his face, brushing back his wild, dark angel's hair. "You made me go without you for almost an entire minute." She stared at him, hardly believing he was here, he was hers, her Keith, before she leaned down and kissed him, softly at first, then catching his lips between hers, boldly darting her tongue across his.

He kissed her back, more fiercely, this time, and ran his hands down her spine so that they rested lightly in the small of her back, just above her hips. "Princess, I have to remind you that you still aren't recovered," he told her solemnly, only his eyes giving away his smile. He rolled with her so that she was beneath him, her hair spread out all around her, the way he loved it. "You must not engage in any strenuous activity."

She squirmed underneath him, her blue eyes wide. "Whatever shall we do with ourselves, then? I have a fascinating booklet detailing the latest Garrison regulation changes. It's fascinating. We could read it together, and then you could quiz me. Did you know that there's been a change in the rule about how many rings you can wear on..."

He was laughing openly at her now, his hands already pulling her robe off, undoing the buttons on her nightgown as she spoke. "Hush, Allura," he told her. "And lay back, and let me do all the work this time." Her eyes widened as she tried to help him with her buttons. He caught her hand and kissed her fingers. "And that's a direct..."

"Order from my commander," she finished, and she laid back and surrendered herself to his kisses.

VVVVV

Charlotte stretched out against the silk sheets, smiling to herself. To be truthful, she felt wonderful. She wondered, in fact, why she had ever been afraid of him. She thought of the way he held her, the way he was so strong and decisive, yet patient with her, too...the way he had fired that hateful Elena Kragen had been wonderful...

She looked up at the mirror above her and smiled at the woman she saw there. Today, she looked vibrant and alive again. Because that was the way she felt on the inside. She _was_ happy. She was surviving. On Planet Doom. And evil Prince Lotor was really not so evil. At least not to her. Lately.

He'd kissed her very softly when he left her that morning. He had held a lock of her hair between two of his fingers, holding it up to the light. "It's red, in the light," he told her, and she laughed, because she knew that. She knew what the color of her own hair was. But he looked as if he had discovered some great secret, and then he smiled at her, and kissed her, and promised to send her breakfast, and that he would be back for lunch.

"I'll have your slaves bring some of your things over," he said, smoothing the coverlet she was lying underneath. "You'll be staying here for awhile." It was not a question, but not quite an order. It was a simple statement of fact. She found that she didn't mind it. Once upon a time, she might have, but she was changing the longer she stayed here, the longer she knew him. She no longer found it odd or alarming that he could tell her what to do and she would do it, without complaint. It was much easier. To not think about things. To live moment to moment. And she thought about home less, missed it less.

The slaves had come in as soon as he had left, leaving a breakfast tray and some clothes and books he'd supplied her with, but although she had picked at the breakfast tray, she hadn't touched a book or moved to get dressed. The clothes were little better than the nightgown she was wearing, and there was a fresh supply of those too, so she slipped on a new one and crawled back into the bed. She felt strangely languid, as if there was nothing to worry about at all, no reason why she should hurry, or do anything, in fact, except lie right where she was. Her eyelids were heavy. She felt sleepy, like she could take a nap even now, right after waking up...she had been sleeping a lot, actually, since she'd come to Doom. Taking lots of naps. She liked it. She had never been one for naps, before Doom.

So she was quite surprised when a familiar red-haired figure appeared suddenly beside her, holding its hand over her mouth as she cried out in surprise.

"Do not cry out, Charlotte McClain. I am here to take you home."

Charlotte blinked sleepily at the woman next to her. "Kiari?" she asked when her mouth was free. She laughed. "How wonderful! What a nice dream."

The beautiful red-haired warrior looked at her curiously. "This is no dream, Charlotte. I am here to take you home," she repeated, looking her over from head to toe, snuggled as she was under the bejeweled coverlet.

Charlotte sat up, then, blinking furiously, trying to wake up. Kiari stared openly, now, at the very sheer nightgown she wore. Charlotte shrugged. "I know, it's not much of a nightgown, but it's the style here on Doom. I'm getting used to it. I think of it as a 'not-gown.' Get it? 'Not-gown?' Nightgown?" she laughed.

Kiari did not laugh with her. She was dressed all in black and looked as fierce as that man who always followed her about. Saran. Her bodyguard. And then she frowned, because she didn't want to think about bodyguards for some reason. "Come. We must hurry," Kiari said, grasping her hand and pulling her to her feet.

"But we can't go," Charlotte told her. "Lotor is coming back for lunch. What would he do if I wasn't here?"

Kiari looked at her with open alarm now. "Do you feel well, Charlotte? Are you ill?"

"No!" she protested, sitting back heavily on the bed. "I feel wonderful. Never better. In fact, I often feel this way these days." She smiled. "I'm his wife, you know. Who wouldn't be happy?"

Kiari's eyes narrowed. "So you are saying you do not wish to return with me? To your brother and your friends?' she asked carefully.

Charlotte looked at her with huge, lost eyes. "I can't, Kiari. To return now would only bring more pain. With me around, Lance has to see a living reminder of his past _every day_, and all the baggage I bring with me. I should stay away and not bother him anymore."

"And you get this information from where? Surely not your brother."

Charlotte looked down at her hands. "No," she said. "But I know it's true. I can see it in his face, when he thinks I'm not looking. Guilt. Pain. Sadness. I don't want to be the cause of that, Kiari." She raised her blue eyes to meet Kiari's green ones, and Kiari was suddenly reminded of Lance. They looked so alike. Except for the age difference, they could be twins. Except that Charlotte was acting strangely.

"Your brother does feel these things, Charlotte, but not because of you. They were there before you came to Arus, but they were buried deep within him, and they were eating at him from the inside out. His laughter was bitter, it was something he hid behind. Since you came back to him, those things are no longer inside him, strangling him." She took a step towards the young woman, as if to embrace her. "If you do not come back to him, he'll stuff those feelings back down inside, where they will choke him."

Charlotte shook her head, tears in her eyes. "You don't understand," she whispered. "It's too late for me. I have nothing. I signed it all away. Lotor... he made me his _wife_," she whispered. "And I'm changing him, I really think I am. He's not violent any more..."

"What do you mean by _any more_?" Kiari interrupted sharply.

"When I first came, he was angrier with me. Violent, at times." At Kiari's dark look, she hurried on. "But not worse than my father had been."

"He was _no worse_ than your father?" Kiari echoed, her horror growing.

Charlotte nodded, agitated. "But he stopped, you see. He hasn't hit me in... a long time, and he's stopped trying to frighten me, or threaten me, or to hurt others in front of me..." she pleaded, trying to make her understand, but she could see Kiari didn't.

"He has done these things to you?" the red-haired woman asked with a calm she did not feel.

"Not in a long time!" Charlotte said again. "He's been kind, actually, and I've enjoyed his company."

Kiari looked from the young woman's sheer nightgown to the rumpled sheets of the huge bed. "And he has taken you, as well?" she asked bluntly, ignoring the young woman's blush, which told her all she needed to know. "And you wanted him to do this?"

"Not at first, exactly; but you see, I was just afraid. Which is natural. But that's all over now. I changed my mind. It's not like that anymore. So you see," Charlotte whispered. "I really can't go back, not after...everything. What if...there was a child?"

"All the more reason," Kiari muttered darkly, sick to her stomach and thinking swiftly. Once there had been a man in her clan who had beaten his wife. Then he would come to her, pleading, bringing gifts, making promises, and his wife would return to him, and everything was well. For a time. Until it happened again. And again. Until finally, the wife's brothers came and took her away from the man by force. But she hadn't wanted to go. Charlotte reminded her of that woman. Kiari sighed. Charlotte was very possibly drugged or bespelled, or she had become that beaten wife. Or she was losing her mind. Or she was simply used to being treated badly by men, and thought the way Lotor treated her was normal, maybe even loving, because she had known no other life. All of those possibilities made her mission complicated.

Kiari nodded slowly at Charlotte, tears in her eyes. "If you are certain, then you leave me no choice. We will all miss you, Charlotte. Your brother will be devastated." Charlotte winced. "I know you don't wish to hurt him. Perhaps there is something you might like to give him, to remind him of you? Or perhaps," Kiari smiled brightly, as if she had just had a brilliant idea. "Why don't you write him a little note? Something he can hold, and read when he misses you? Just to tell him you love him?" she asked, and Charlotte nodded through her tears.

"Let me look in the other room," she said, rising and walking towards the door. "I'm sure Lotor has a..."

Charlotte never finished her sentence. Kiari caught her around the waist before she fell, a sharp cutting blow against a particular spot on her neck knocking the girl unconscious. She quickly bound her hands and arms to her sides, gagged her, and tied her ankles together, thanking the gods that she had carried extra rope. There was nothing worth taking the time to clothe her in; everything looked as revealing as her nightgown. As she hoisted the girl, who weighed very little, over her shoulder and climbed back up the rope to the maintenance duct, she knew she would have to move quickly if the last part of her plan was to go smoothly.

Kiari pulled the grate behind her and closed her eyes in fierce concentration. She was taking a risk, with her aunt being in the castle, the very woman who had taught her magic, and because she had an unwilling rescuee on her hands, so she shielded herself as best she could and thought of Lance's smile for luck. Alarms sounded all across Castle Doom as fires broke out in several strategic locations; she had planned which ones by studying a diagram of the castle before she left Arus. She concentrated for a little longer, making sure the fires were burning huge and hot, before she crawled forward as fast as she could, heading for the hangars with Lance's limp sister slung across her back. A quick peek at the hangars had been her first order of business after leaving the Pit of Skulls. The guards were going to be occupied by the fire she was about to set to a pile of weapons and explosives on the far side of the hangar. The side of the hangar where the stealth fighter was not. She was going to return everything Lotor had stolen from Arus. She was going to return Charlotte McClain in the same L-22 she had arrived in.


	14. Chapter 14: A Little Fall of Rain

Author's notes: Thanks to everyone for being so patient during this longer than usual lag between postings. I finally got to sneak out of town before summer ends. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, including Xia and Mertz, wade wells and Harmony, and Heart of Demons (hope the move goes well!). I would rate this chapter as PG-13 for language, adult situations, and violence.

Playlist: Thom Yorke, "Black Swan," Tom Petty, "Swingin'," Black Ghosts, "Full Moon."

All standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Fourteen:

A Little Fall of Rain

He woke to the sense of something being not quite right rather to any specific sound. Caught between the two worlds of deep dreams and almost-awake, he became aware of a presence in his room that was wrong and out-of-place and even spooky, but not evil. It was such a subtle presence that he couldn't even be sure he wasn't still caught in the throes of some awful nightmare, some fading memory of one of the countless Robeasts they had fought over the last few days, or any one of the endless nightmare scenarios involving his lost loved ones. His sister. His girlfriend. The latest two people to get past his guard, to lull him into caring, to weaken him into vulnerability, to fill his heart to overflowing and make him glad to be alive... But whatever it was, whatever tickled at the edges of his awareness, it made no noise.

That was probably what saved his mother's life.

Lance, trained killer that he was, was out of bed and standing with a blaster in his hand in less than a handful of seconds as soon as he realized someone was in his room. Someone had managed to sneak past him, entering without his permission or knowledge. A friend would knock, or call out his name. Fear and adrenaline coursed though his system as he held the blaster steady, trained on a dim figure that was sitting in his small chair in the corner of his room. A shadowy presence, just sitting there, smelling of violets with her hands in her lap.

A ghost of a memory flared into recognition, and he lowered the blaster.

"_Mother_," he breathed, in surprise as much as fear. "I could have killed you. You shouldn't sneak up on me. You shouldn't be sneaking at all. Why aren't you in Med Center?"

She didn't answer him. Her face was turned to the window, and in the moonlight he could see how she had aged, her reddish hair shot through with silver, her eyes deep and lined and haunted. She began twisting her hands nervously in her lap.

"You were having a nightmare," she told him. "You were thrashing, and crying out." Her voice was very soft.

He sighed and sat back down, putting the blaster down on the nightstand. She seemed very detached, and he would take her back to Med Center where she belonged. He hadn't forgiven her for what she'd done to his sister. He hadn't forgiven her for a lot of things, he realized, and he wasn't about to start now, not with everything else he had to deal with. There would be time, he told himself, watching the fragile creature sitting in the shadows. Time enough for forgiveness. But not now. The present, with all its problems, was more pressing than the past.

"What do you want, Mother?" he asked warily. He knew he could restrain her, if she tried anything. Like she had with his sister. He fought down his rising anger.

"I'm sorry," she said simply.

"For what?" he snapped, the old anger breaking through. _For my fucked up childhood? For a sister who jumps at her own shadow? For turning yourself into a vegetable, or an icicle, completely incapable of taking care of yourself or anyone else who happened to need you? _Irritated, he rose to take her arm and lead her back to her permanent home in Med Center. "I don't have time for this right now," he said wearily.

She grabbed his arm with surprising strength as he reached for her. "Don't send me away yet, Lance. This is important." She turned her head away and he caught another whiff of violets, a smell that clouded his earliest memories. _Why do they all smell like flowers, the women in my life? Except Kiari. She smells like spices, like cinnamon..._ "For all of it," she whispered. "I'm sorry for all of it. And I'm here trying to right what I can." She pulled on his arm so hard he had no choice but to kneel before her, or risk hurting her. "Where is my daughter, Lance? Where has she gone? No one tells me anything. They're afraid of upsetting me, I think. So delicate, they think. Lady Vivienne, of the Lakes... they don't know what power sleeps beneath..."

_Insane_, he thought. _She's completely insane._ He did not try to spare her feelings. "She's gone, Mother. She's been taken. By a monster, who has stolen everything she has. Including Father's company."

She merely nodded, as if this made sense. "The rumors are true, then. Perhaps it is good she is well used to monsters," she whispered again. Lance wanted to hit her, then, but he did not. As her death grip continued, he noticed it was not only her hands she had been twisting. A wadded up piece of paper lay in her lap. "Your sister will return to us." It was not a question, merely a statement that held no doubt.

He thought about the way he had been torn in half since Charlotte's disappearance. One half was angry and ashamed that he had not recovered her already, had not stormed Castle Doom with guns blazing. The old Lance McClain would have done so already, consequences be damned. But there was a new Lance McClain now, and this new and strange version of him had a planet to protect, Robeasts to fight, a princess to serve, and bonds that would not let him go, that wrapped around his heart in strange and wonderful ways. Bonds with two others that always pointed him true north... That side of him had decided to trust Kiari and his growing love for her, to trust that she would come through for him, that she could and would carry him when he could not.

"Yes," he told his mother. "She will be returned to us."

Wordlessly, she shoved the wadded up paper at him. "This is yours," she said. "Your sister tried to make me sign it, the last night before I was... removed. She was so insistent, and she couldn't sign on her own behalf, not yet, and I... refused her." She was silent for a long time, staring at the moonlight. "I don't even know why. I hurt her, Lance," she whispered. She made no excuses for herself. "I hurt her. And then I lost her." She stood, then, and drifted to the doorway. "So many things to be sorry for. But this is a step. The first of many, I hope." Vivienne smiled, actually _smiled_, and her entire being seemed transformed by it. "It's half your birthright. She wanted you to have it. I signed it the night they took me away. She was right, and I was wrong. I only hope it's not too late."

Lance smoothed out the paper. In precise, legal language, the document granted him half of all his father's assets, exactly half of what had passed to Charlotte upon his death. She had tried to give half her inheritance to him, the night she was taken, the night she came to him, wounded and bruised. She came to him, thinking she had failed him, having no way of knowing their mother had later signed it. Her signature was neat and flowing in the bottom right corner, right above his mother's erratic scrawled one. It was dated the day after his sister's disappearance, before her birthday, when Vivienne still had power of attorney over the estate.

Half of McClain Corp. was his.

Lotor was no longer in charge.

He stared at his mother in shock.

"I left you the Lakes, Lance." She shook her head ruefully. "_Lancelot_ McClain. How your father hated that name. I know it's the farthest thing from your mind right now, but I was Lady Vivienne of the Lakes before I was ever Mrs. Arthur McClain, and they have a peace and a power that has been sleeping, just as I was, all these long years, untainted by your father's darkness. When you need them, their peace and their power, they will be yours." Her eyes had a strange, scary light to them, and he feared, once again, for her sanity. "Just another way of saying I'm sorry, my son." Lance, still frozen in shock on the floor, could only watch as his mother drifted, half ghost, half memory, out his door.

VVVVV

Keith Kogane awoke to the strangest, most disorienting sound he had yet heard on Arus. It was strange because it was also familiar, and disorienting because he hadn't heard it since he left Earth. For a moment, he wondered if he was hearing some terrible new weapon, if the castle was under attack and he had slept through the alarms....

And then he smiled into the darkness, at his own foolishness, at the way he had become so serious and battle hardened that he so often overlooked the simple things. He rolled onto his side and looked at the baby he was watching over, lying awake in her bassinet in his quarters. She regarded him with violet-blue eyes. She did not cry or fuss, but looked at him with surprise and curiosity, as if she, too, knew something strange and wonderful was happening.

Keith had his days with Allura, while she was still confined to her rooms, but her nights belonged to Nanny, so he slept in his quarters with still-unconscious Nyle's daughter and often dreamed of her, his blue-eyed princess. But he knew she was not in her rooms now; he could feel her bright presence in his mind, caught between awe and delight and some bittersweet kind of feeling he didn't recognize, and he knew where she had gone. He wondered, briefly, how she had gotten away from Nanny. He felt another presence, a blazing warmth, coming to join him, and he smiled at Kate, whispering, "I know a secret, little one, and Uncle Lance is coming to help me show you." He did not try to speak to them mind to mind; they were getting better at shields and he did not want Allura to know they were coming. He padded across the room to his closet, pulling on old jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Lance found him digging around in the back of his closet, looking for something for Kate.

"I brought some towels," he said. "For both the ladies, the big and the little," he added, scooping up Kate, who squealed in delight and tried to stuff a fistful of towel into her mouth. "Listen, Keith, I need to talk to you when you get a chance..."

"Jesus, Lance, you're wearing _clothes_," Keith interrupted, amazed. His friend was wearing Garrison issue khakis and a loose t-shirt. "I haven't seen you in anything but sweats in... I don't know how long," Keith admitted.

Lance shrugged, bouncing Kate stomach-down across his forearm. His "potato sack" hold, he called it. She squealed again, delighted, and tried to eat his arm. "I thought I should dress up for the occasion," he said, gently disengaging Kate's mouth from his arm. "Don't they have pacifiers on Arus?" he asked, more frustrated than irritated. "If they don't, I'm going to get some, come hell or high water."

Keith just shrugged as they walked through the castle corridors in a companionable silence. When they finally came to what had once been Allura's fledgling garden, now thoroughly trashed by Robeast after Robeast, they stopped just under the archway that led to a series of long, low steps descending to the freshly exposed soil.

She was standing, as they knew she would be, under the open light gray sky, her hands palm up, her face turned upward, eyes closed tight, as if she might wake up at any minute and find she'd been dreaming. She swayed and skipped and laughed, dancing by herself, in the ruins of her garden, her hair plastered to her face and her nightgown stuck to her body in a most revealing manner. Keith and Lance were glad they were the only ones to see her like this; they'd both seen her in fewer clothes in worse situations, but as they watched her dance, they knew they were seeing something more special to them than the historic event itself. They could feel each other's joy, to see their princess, the woman they were sworn to protect and serve, in different ways, perhaps, but with no lesser degrees of devotion, completely free and happy, dancing in the rain.

It was raining on Arus, for the first time in ten years.

Allura was laughing and crying and jumping in puddles, her bare feet muddy and her nightgown no doubt ruined, and they thought she had never looked happier or more beautiful. She whirled in circles and threw her hands up to the sky, touched her soaking wet hair in wonder and tried to wipe the tears off her wet face, and then laughed harder because she couldn't. They watched from their place under the awning, not wanting to break her reverie, as she stuck out her tongue and tasted the water, rubbed her wet arms in wonder, stared at the way the water made her nightgown stick to her body, tried to wring it out only to have it get wet and stick again, and laughed, not caring. They watched as she hugged herself and swayed gently, as if the rain made music only she could hear. They watched with full hearts as she moved her toes through the mud and tried to rinse them off in puddles. They watched with fierce protectiveness as she jumped and shrieked like a child, as she shook her wet hair so hard it struck her shoulders like ropes, as she laughed again and again, as she cried at the sky, at the ground, at the falling water. They watched her, this princess of theirs, and they thought, privately and to each other, fiercely and reverently: _This is why we fight_.

And then the beautiful, bewitching Princess of Arus fell flat on her face in the mud.

It was a toss-up as to who laughed the hardest of the three of them, but Keith reached her first, offering to help her up while Lance held the baby, daughter of the last Water Mage on Arus, in his arms in the warm, gentle rain. Kate, predictably, squealed and tried to eat it, but since Allura had done it, Lance figured it was ok. He turned his attention back to Keith and Allura just in time to see his commander hold out his hand to her in a gesture that burned with the love between them.

Lance hadn't become the second-best poker player he knew of to miss what was coming. He took a prudent step backwards and held the baby protectively in the crook of his arm.

Allura looked at Keith with total love and trust as she gripped his outstretched hand. The grip became a vise and the love and trust melted into mischief as the Princess of Arus pulled the Commander of the Voltron Force into a muddy, shocked heap on the ground beside her. He sat there for a second, gaping at her, as Lance and Allura shook with laughter, before sitting up slowly, covered with mud, digging his fingers into the soft wet earth.

"You. Are. So. Dead." Keith promised Allura, and Lance stepped back even further as the mud balls began to fly.

"Easy there!" he protested as one of them lobbed a handful of mud at his feet. "I've got a baby here!"

"Just...like you, Lance...McClain," Allura gasped out between peals of laughter. "To hide...behind an infant..." She was hardly recognizable, now, and Keith was not much better as he lobbed another perfectly formed mud ball at Lance's thigh.

"You can't hide behind that baby forever," Keith promised with mock severity. "I can plaster you without touching her." He smacked Lance with more mud to prove his point. "I am, after all, the most accurate marksman on the team..."

Lance, who scored as well or better than Keith on a regular basis, began making a nest with the towels for the baby, under the awning where she would be out of the way of mud, rain, and feet. "That's one hell of a claim, Commander," Lance said, pausing only to strip off his t-shirt before jumping into the mud between them. It quickly devolved into mud wrestling, while Allura laughed right beside them and tried to get in a good shot every now and then. Neither Keith nor Lance could get a firm hold, and they slipped and slid in the mud like eels, Allura flat on her back at this point, laughing like a maniac into the falling rain.

She stopped, briefly enraged, as a huge ball of mud hit her on the side of the face, splattering across her face and hair. She sat up to find Pidge standing there, barefoot and wearing only loose pajama bottoms, and Hunk, in his eternal jeans and leather motorcycle vest, both wearing identical looks of guilt and mirth. Pidge shrugged while Hunk grinned evilly.

"You. Got. Mud. In. My. _Hair_," she declared, then resumed her maniacal laughter while she scooped up two handfuls, taking careful aim at the last clean members of the Voltron Force.

"Defend the princess!" Lance yelled as she hit Hunk but missed Pidge.

"'Cause she throws like a girl!" Pidge yelled as Lance pulled him under. Allura squealed and threw some more mud, she wasn't sure at who, and locked eyes with Keith, the two of them starting towards Hunk, who stood as solid as a tree, and fell as hard as one when they each grabbed a leg and pulled.

Under the awning, Kate, the best baby in the world, had fallen asleep.

It only went downhill from there, and eventually there was not a single inch of mud-free skin or hair or clothing on any member of the Voltron Force, and not one of them could remember the last time they had laughed so hard or felt like more of a team. They finally collapsed on their backs, staring up at the rain, panting, catching their breath, when Allura, giggling breathlessly, sat up.

"I used to play in the rain with my mother, on this very spot, before the attacks," she said, her giggles dissolving into bittersweet remembrance. "I haven't seen rain in ten years. I think...I think I forgot it existed," she marveled, holding out her open hands.

"That climate building system of Char... of McClain Corp. is starting to work," Pidge said quietly. Lance grimaced.

"Princess!" yelled a sharp, familiar voice. They all groaned. Nanny. "You must come in at once! You will be sick...or catch a disease... and your lovely nightgown is _ruined_... such a pretty shade of pink, too." At the mention of the princess's least favorite color, someone giggled, and then the rest of them joined in, and they were all laughing again.

"Oh Nanny," Allura purred, her hands busy behind her back. "It's so much fun..."

"It is most undignified, and dangerous, besides," Nanny admonished. "I insist you..." She cried out in horror as five splotches of mud hit her in the apron. "I... oh! You _terrible_ hooligans..." and they could only laugh as she stormed off.

"What's a hooligan?" Allura asked, inching closer to Keith.

"Ask Lance," Pidge suggested, and was immediately pelted with more mud.

"Well?" Allura asked expectantly, turning to Lance, who lay on his side, watching her in the rain.

"Someone who would do this," he said with deep satisfaction as he hit her squarely in the chest with mud, ignoring her squeal. "_That_ is a hooligan."

"Then I agree with Nanny for once," she said, hitting him back. "We _are_ all hooligans," and, to prove it, the mud began to fly once more.

VVVVV

He felt, rather than heard, her slip into the shower behind him. The military part of his mind that was always alert when she was around silently applauded her stealth even as the rest of him froze in shock.

"Nanny's not speaking to me," she said softly. "So there's no one to give me a bath."

He turned to find her still in her ruined nightgown, her lower lip stuck out in her best petulant princess pout. He raised an eyebrow at her. Muddy water streamed off her and pooled around their bare feet. "You are the dirtiest princess I've ever seen," he teased.

"So you've seen more than one dirty princess?" she teased right back, shocking him again. "Just how many dirty princesses have you..." but her words were suddenly stopped with a kiss, and Keith, brandishing a bar of soap, threatened to clean her mouth out with it, but he didn't. He was suddenly rather busy.

VVVVV

"Let me GO!" Charlotte shouted for what seemed like the hundredth time. "You have NO idea what you've done. He's going to be so angry. He's going to come after me, and he'll throw everything he has, everything _I_ had, at Arus, and believe me, I know _exactly_ what he's capable of, now that he has McClain Corp. resources, and I _know_ how angry, how violent he can be..." she pleaded, her tirade dissolving into tears. She squirmed against the bonds that still held her. Kiari silently thanked the instinct that had made her leave the girl bound, and wished she had been wise enough to leave the gag on, too. Charlotte had been variously begging, pleading, threatening, and crying to go back to Lotor and Planet Doom since she woke up from the blow that had left her as limp and unresponsive as a lump of Nyle's dough. Kiari did her best to ignore the girl and her outbursts, her eyes fixed on the screen that showed Planet Arus in the far distance. She stared at it as a drowning man might stare at a far away raft.

"He loves me, he really does," Charlotte sniffled. _So it is to be tears, this time, and professions of false love_, Kiari thought, gripping the control bar harder than she had too.

"And I think...I think maybe I was coming to love him too," she sobbed, her face wet because she couldn't wipe away her tears. "We were changing each other. He was becoming less violent with me, he was even gentle, towards the end, and he stopped beating the slaves when I was around, because he knew it bothered me, and if that's not love, then what is?" The girl almost choked on her sobs. "And I was becoming less restrained, and I even..._ I_ went to _him_..." Kiari's stomach heaved as the girl raved on. "I wasn't afraid of him anymore, and he waited, until..."

Kiari slammed her fist on a touch screen, kicking on the autopilot. She undid her harness and twisted so that she was facing the girl, bound and bundled into the back of the fighter. "I no longer wish to hear of how _wonderful_ Prince Lotor is, or of how much he has changed," she spat. Charlotte stared at her, open mouthed. "I do not care if you hate me for what I did. Retrieving you from Doom was without a doubt the worst few days I have ever lived through. Your rescue has had consequences you cannot even dream of," she hissed, thinking of her aunt, and the new nightmare she had on her hands. "I did it for your brother, although I had hoped it might foster some affection between the two of us, as well. You have clearly lost your mind, Charlotte McClain. Or you are drugged, or bespelled. Dr. Gorma will be able to tell us which," Kiari raged. "Tell me, did he give you anything strange to eat or drink? Something that tasted differently than it was supposed to? Either very bitter or very sweet?" Charlotte pursed her lips, apparently unwilling to speak at all unless it was to shout dire warnings or praise the Prince of Doom.

Kiari sighed. "Tell me, Charlotte. Answer me, or I will gag you again, even if your brother comes to hate me for it." She held up the length of knotted rope for emphasis.

"Wine," the girl admitted, finally, eyeing the gag sideways. "He made me drink wine, and it was very sweet and thick, but with a bitterness to it... it reminded me a little of cherry cough syrup. But he was drinking it too! He couldn't be drugging me if he was drinking the very same thing. And he only _made_ me drink it at first. After that..."

"After that, you _wanted_ to drink it," Kiari finished for her, shaking her head. Dread and relief warred within her as she feared for Charlotte's well being and the consequences of being drugged, but a part of her was glad, fiercely glad, that there might be a reasonable explanation for the girl's insane, erratic, annoying behavior. The girl who was bound in the back of the stealth fighter was _not_ the same girl she had found almost cowering outside of Lance's bedroom on the night she was kidnapped. Perhaps her insane ravings were the beginnings of withdrawal symptoms...

"But he's going to destroy Arus, now that you've kidnapped me!" Kiari bit her tongue to keep from pointing out, _again_, that Lotor had originally kidnapped her. "You don't know what he's like! He'll grind Arus into dust..."

"And this is the gentle _husband_ who cherished you so much?" Kiari snapped. "Do you know what he has done to your brother?" _That_ seemed to penetrate. Charlotte stared at her with a glimmer of genuine fear. "Your brother, when he heard you had been taken, drove his Lion into the heart of a Robeast to save the lives of his friends. _He almost died_, and when I left him, to come and get _you_, Charlotte McClain, he was lying in a bed in Med Center with burns over most of his body. He is perhaps the bravest warrior I have ever known, and he _cried_ for you, Charlotte. _That_ is love, that is caring, that is kindness and gentleness. And do you know who sent that Robeast? The one that almost killed your brother?" Kiari was almost yelling. "Take a guess, Charlotte McClain. Who sent that Robeast?"

"Lotor," the girl whispered.

"Yes. Your wonderful husband."

They stared at each other, one horrified, the other hopeful that reason was finally dawning in the girl's mind.

Kiari nearly cursed when her instrument panel began beeping insistently. As she turned her attention back to the fighter, Charlotte began her ravings yet again. "But he wouldn't do that, not to someone I love, because it would bring me pain, and he loves me, I know he does. It must have been some mistake. I was changing him, I really was...."

Kiari did curse, then, loudly and colorfully, because a coffin craft cruised steadily toward Arus not far from their location. The fighter was cloaked, and she thought she could get around it, even get ahead of it, perhaps, but she hadn't broken comm. silence, and was afraid doing so would bring them to Lotor's attention, or even the coffin craft in front of them; maybe if she got far enough in front of it, she could risk a transmission, a warning, or perhaps she could reach Arus far enough ahead of it...

As different strategies and scenarios raced through her mind, Lance's sister raved on behind her. "You'll be sorry, you'll see, when he sends everything he has, everything McClain Corp. has, after you, and then Arus..."

"Will be ground into dust. I know, Charlotte. You have warned me of this for the last time," she growled, turning to the girl and brandishing the gag. "I really must ask you to _shut up_ now, or suffer the consequences. I have pressing matters to attend to."

"You see?" Charlotte cried out, somewhat smugly. "It's a coffin, isn't it? I told you. But you wouldn't listen. Maybe if you take me back he'll call the whole thing off. He's really not so evil, once you get to know him..."

Kiari wished she felt bad about the blow she delivered to the girl's neck, but she didn't. As Charlotte McClain slumped down against her seat, she felt only relief as she turned back to her instrument panel and contemplated the situation at hand in blessed silence.

VVVVV

Romelle knew, the second Lotor entered her cell, that he was very drunk and drugged and very violent. She could smell the wine on him, smell the acrid smoke that clung to his clothes and hair, could see the orange in his eyes, the brightest orange she had ever seen...

"She's gone," he whispered, moving slowly towards the corner of her cell where she perched on her bed like a bird trying to fly away. "She either left me, of her own desire, or someone stole her away from me." He sat down and pulled her roughly to him by her long blond hair. For the longest time, he merely held her head in his lap, petting her golden hair, drinking from a flask he pulled from somewhere.

"I'll tell you a secret, Romelle, if you promise not tell," he whispered after a very long time. Then he laughed. "How could you tell? You won't tell. You'll never tell..." Something about the way he laughed froze her blood. _Is this the night_? she wondered. _Is this the night he finally kills me?_

"The secret is..." he pulled her ear up to his lips by pulling on her hair again. She tried not to show her pain. "I really was coming to care for her. I didn't want to hurt or scare her, and I wanted her to not be so _afraid_, of me, or of anyone," he said, letting go of her roughly, and she saw the strangest emotions in his eyes. He looked lost. And sad. And confused. And angry. "She would have gotten used to me, I know she would have. I was...helping that process along, somewhat, but it was already happening. I don't understand it. I was going to give her children. Royal children." He shook his head, drinking again, and Romelle knew he was no longer talking to her, but to himself, and that scared her even more, for some reason. "Perhaps I did, and I'll never know. She wasn't even _beautiful_," he said, incredulous. "I've had the most beautiful women in the universe, and she was nothing like that." He laughed bitterly. "But she _bloomed_, in the light. I so wanted to see her in the sun. But there is no sunlight, here, on Doom. She gave me a flower, once. No one gives me flowers. I'm the Crown Prince of Doom..."

He threw the flask against the wall. Thick red wine seeped through the broken glass like blood. "And now she's gone." He turned on her, the violence coming across him so quickly even she didn't expect it. "Do you hear me, Romelle? _She's gone_. She left, or someone took her, and if they did, even their gods will show them no mercy..." He studied her face, seeming to know her once again. She flinched away from his gaze.

"And you," he hissed, and she braced herself. "You are not Allura, and I have let even her too close to my heart. There can only be one woman I will ever let close to me, now, and you are not her. Never again, never again, let a woman make me weak..." He snarled and shook her like a child's toy. "I will have Allura, and I will keep her in her place, and she will never make me weak, because I will not allow it, and you are dangerous, Romelle, because you are not her. So you see," he said, throwing her down on the floor. "I have no more use for you. No more weakness," he growled, and, as his heavy boot came down on her back, she wondered when he had ever been weak with her. He had been weak when he pretended she was this Allura woman, but he had never been weak with her.

Eventually, as he unleashed his rage on her in ways she hadn't known were possible, she reached a place where pain and humiliation didn't exist. It was like she no longer belonged to the battered body that lay beneath him. She felt nothing as she floated and the world turned gray. Dimly, she felt him pull away from her; she heard him, as if speaking down a long tunnel, to the guards. "Do whatever you like," he told them, "and throw her into the Pit of Skulls. She won't live until morning." Blackness claimed her as she felt herself being thrown over a broad, armored shoulder.

But the blackness eventually let her go, and she moaned in anger. That wasn't how it was supposed to be, she wanted to tell the person who was carrying her. The blackness was supposed to keep her forever...

"Got a live one, still," one of the guards said uncertainly.

"Not for long," the other guard said, and she hoped he was right.

Then she was falling, falling into darkness again, and she dared to hope it would claim her for good this time, but the treacherous darkness failed her again, because she could feel again, could feel when she hit something hard and sharp, and something pierced her shoulder and her thigh, and she cried out in pain, her world pulsing with a darkness that refused to claim her completely. She felt strange hands lifting her, strong hands, gentle hands, holding her, carrying her, and she whimpered, afraid they would turn on her, hurt her...

"You are safe now, I promise. I won't hurt you, and I will kill anyone else who tries," the strange hands said. They belonged to a person, and she could see him. His dark face seemed to flicker. Was it firelight? She didn't know. She became dimly aware of something soft beneath her, of cool water held to her lips. "Ssshh," the stranger said. "You are safe now, Princess. But you are badly hurt. You must be still, for now, or you will hurt yourself more."

Princess. That was her. Princess Romelle, of Pollux. She had forgotten. She tried to shift enough to see the man, and cried out in pain.

"Please be still," the man begged her. His voice was strange to her ears.

"Who are you?" she tried to whisper. Her throat hurt, but she wanted to know. "You know me. Are you from Pollux?"

The man regarded her in what she now recognized as firelight. He was kneeling beside her, and he had dark wild eyes and hair. "Pollux," he said, as if tasting the word. "I don't know. Perhaps. But I do know you. I knew you when I saw you, and I _remembered_." His voice was reverent as he said the word. "I _remembered_ something, just one thing, really, but it was you. I was kneeling at your feet, and I kissed your hand and swore my life to your service." He looked at her, almost worshipful. "And I swear it again, here and now. You have given me something I thought was lost forever. A glimmer of who I am, and for that, I thank you."

"But I don't remember you at all," she protested, and he laughed.

"Then you are in good company, Princess," he said, and she felt oddly reassured as he brushed her cheek with the tip of one gentle finger. No one had touched her, the _real_ her, with so much gentleness since her mother had died. His dark eyes held sorrow and a hint of fear as he looked her over, but there was steel there, too. "I'm afraid I must ask you to be very brave," he said. "You have several broken bones, and..." he hesitated, and then plunged ahead. "You have the bones of others stuck through you, as well. You fell directly into the pile of...bodies. I must pull them out, and reset your broken bones, or you will not long survive." He looked at her as if the prospect of her pain hurt him, too. "I did not find you again just to lose you, my Princess."

"Romelle," she said, her voice strangely low and husky. Was her throat damaged somehow?

"Princess Romelle," he repeated. "I call myself Dark, for lack of a better name."

_How appropriate_, she thought, as she felt his strong gentle hands on her shoulder, felt him grasp the sharp object stuck there, felt him give a smooth but firm pull on it, saw him wince but not stop as she cried out in pain and the darkness claimed her. _Dark,_ she thought as her world went black, and stayed that way for a long, long time.

VVVVV

"Why didn't you mention this earlier?" Keith said, staring at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand as if it might explode.

"I didn't know how I felt about it," Lance admitted. "I didn't know what I wanted to do." They were sitting with the Lions underneath the stars, having a drink and talking things over, like friends were supposed to do. Except this time, galaxies hung in the balance; he possibly held the key to breaking Lotor's stranglehold on countless planets, including the one he sat on; the past had crept out of its hole and swallowed his present; he had a possible bargaining chip to get back someone he cared about very deeply; his mother was insane, and _creepy_; and, perhaps strangest of all, he held a bottle of very fine bourbon, imported from Earth on one of the last shipments to make it through before Lotor's blockade, and he couldn't even bring himself to drink it. He passed it to Keith, who shook his head.

"So did you decide? What to do about it?" Keith asked carefully.

"You're a great commander, you know," Lance told him with total seriousness. "Do you know that? Some other guys I've worked with, they'd just tell me what to do."

"Not my style," Keith said. Lance grunted.

"I don't want this," he said softly. "But I know I've been handed a killer hand, and the stakes are too high to just throw it away," he said. "So no, I haven't decided what to do, exactly, but I guess I'm saying I'm in. For now. For as long as it takes. And when it's over, I'm giving it back. I don't want this, I never did."

Keith was silent for a long, long time. "That's good, I think. I know how hard this whole thing must be. But what are you going to _do_, exactly?" He reached for the bottle, but all he did was stare at it.

Lance laughed and smacked him on the shoulder. "That's_ your_ job, oh fearless leader. I'm tapped out." He grabbed the bottle back, and forced himself to take a sip. It burned his throat, and he slipped it back in its bag. "Any ideas?"

"Well, the obvious one is to take back half the company immediately. That would break the blockade and free up some resources, not just for us, but other planets too, who might even give us aid... like Galaxy Garrison, for instance. Actual military back up, without a permanent presence on Arus..."

"But if we do that, and he still has Charlotte, if Kiari can't get her out, he'd have no use for her, and he'd get so angry..." Lance eyed the bottle again. He couldn't finish the thought.

"Lance," Keith said gently, speaking the plain, unadorned truth as he so often did. "He has no practical use for her now. He _owns_ her share, which, as far as anyone knows, is all of it. And he'll keep ownership of it, no matter what. You saw that contract."

"But he doesn't own all of it, and if he knows that, if I offer my half as a trade for her..."

"And that would give him complete control, for real this time," Keith pointed out.

"But if we can prove coercion, in any way, if he drugged her, or forced her to sign, somehow..." Lance was cold with rage, and only his friend's grip on his arm kept him from jumping up and smashing something. Probably the innocent, excellent bourbon at his feet... "Then he'd only have half. Again."

"And if he didn't?" Keith asked, even though he knew his friend was hurting. "What if she really did sign, without...coercion? If we can't prove it, we won't have a legal leg to stand on."

"And we're back to square one," Lance groaned. "Why can't you be the kind of asshole that just tells me what to do?"

"Not my style."

"Damn."

After a long, pensive silence, Keith pulled his friend up for the walk back to their quarters. "I think we should start by talking to McClain Corp. They can't be thrilled about the change in management. And I think it's time to talk to Admiral Graham. I _know_ he's desperate to break Lotor's stranglehold. Let's lay down the cards, my friend, and see what they have to say, before we throw this bomb in Lotor's face. After all," he clapped Lance on the back. "You're the best poker player around, aren't you?"

"No," Lance answered honestly. "Second best."

"Oh, come on, you're a legend, man."

"Because that's how she wants it," Lance said sadly.

"Who?" Keith prodded, intrigued.

"You can't tell."

"_Lance!_"

"Ok, ok. Charlotte. She's the best. She's beaten me at every game we've played since she was eight years old."

"You've got to be kidding me. You got beaten by your eight year old little sister?" he asked, incredulous.

"You said you wouldn't tell," Lance warned him. "And you can just imagine the kinds of stakes an eight year old would lay out. I think I still owe her a pony, and her weight in chocolate, and I'm supposed to be her slave for life..."

When Keith was done clutching his stomach, doubled over laughing, he wiped his eyes. "I really don't think we have to worry about Lotor being angry with her, Lance. If she can do that to you, she's probably gotten him all twisted up by now," he said, trying to reassure his friend, who stared back at him solemnly.

"I hope you're right," he whispered, looking up at the stars, wondering which one held Planet Doom in its orbit.


	15. Chapter 15: Homecomings

Author's Notes: Long time no post! School is just starting around here, and things tend to get crazy around then, as many of you well know. I also just got word that one of my manuscripts is going to be reviewed by a publisher in a matter of weeks, so I have been frantically editing and working on something that is _not_ fan fiction. Since publishing my own work is my dream in life, I'm going to be focusing on that for a while. But Voltron keeps popping up, insisting I finish the story. Plus it's excellent practice! There's an end in sight for SoM, I think, and then I'll be able to work on some shorter Voltron fics, and an epic about Sven and Romelle exclusively. As always, suggestions and ideas are welcome and appreciated.

A note on the source material: A part of this chapter has its roots in the Devil's Due comics, which differ significantly from the cartoon version of things. So if you are only familiar with the cartoon, this chapter may surprise you in a place or two. I like the Devil's Due version better; it makes things more complicated, which is always fun.

Playlist: a bit of randomness called "Chill."

All the usual disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Fifteen:

Homecomings

_I have been wandering the Castle of Mists again. I walk through each room and it is just as I remember it: my parent's bedroom, the bed still unmade, the way they left it the day Zarkon attacked; the kitchen with its long table and huge fireplace; the weapons room; our bedroom, with the quilt she made still spread across our bed..._

_"Nyle," she says, coming up behind me. Like a ghost. I fight the urge to laugh. She _is_ a ghost. "You have been here too long, love. You cannot stay."_

_"But I want to stay," I tell her, and suddenly we are on the rocky beach where I buried her. "Life is too hard there. Too empty. Too strange. Too many people who are not you."_

_She does not move to embrace me, as she often does in these dreams. Instead, she looks...disappointed. _

_"And our daughter?" she asks, her hands on her hips in a stance I remember well. It is her "Nyle-you-are-an-idiot-and-I'm-sick-of-your-foolishness" stance. "What is to become of her?"_

_"Allura will raise her. She is her next-of-kin, with me out of the way. Distant kin, third cousin, maybe, but related nonetheless. It would not be a bad life. Peace will come to Arus in her lifetime, and she would be raised as a princess. It is a life I don't know how to give her. I only know how to be lonely and peculiar."_

_Her face grows more thunderous by the minute. "Well, that is your own fault. You keep too much to yourself. Like now, for example. Your body is wasting away in Med Center, and our daughter is being passed around caregivers like a... like a toy, or something, and yet here you stay, where you have no place being..." She is frustrated, and sad. "Nyle, you promised me. You promised you would live. For her. And now I am here to ask more. I want you to live, for me, this time."_

_"It is a hard thing you ask," I tell her, thinking of how easy it would be to stay here on this beach, even if she is mad at me, and let that other life become the dream._

_"Stop it, Nyle." Her voice is sharp. "There is more at stake than you and your misery. Do you think you are the first man to ever lose a wife? To move someplace strange? To have to learn new things, new ways to live? You are not." She actually stamps her foot, a gesture that used to mean trouble but I now find heartbreakingly beautiful. She shakes her head at my stubbornness. "You must see it, then. I am allowed, this one time, to show you, because it is so much more important, that you go back, than you or me."_

_Her pull on my hand is as urgent as it is violent. I almost stumble as she releases me, but I catch myself in surprise. We are standing on a low hill. The Castle of Lions is in the background. Hedges form themselves into a maze that wraps around a small house. It is no castle, but it is no humble cottage either. _

_"Is that my...?" I start to ask. I always wanted to live in a maze. Like Merlin, the mad magician from my favorite childhood tales. _

_"Shh!" she says, in the same voice she used when I used to try to grab a bite of her cooking before it was done. "This is not about you and your stupid, eccentric house. It is about _her_."_

_Voices from behind make me turn. One of them I recognize immediately, and I cannot help but smile. Kate is a young woman, and she is beautiful. Fourteen? Sixteen? Her hair is blond, like mine, but it is waist length like Allura's, and done up in tidy, shining curls pulled back from her face with a ribbon. Her eyes are like mine, too, but are more violet than blue. She wears the same kind of gown women have been wearing on Arus since time out of mind; hers is violet, like her eyes, and pools around her, the light fabric moving in the breeze. She sits on a blanket with two boys, one light and one dark, both near her age._

_I recognize the dark one. I have dreamed of him before. He looks exactly like the commander of the Voltron Force. _

_I recognize the light one, as well, because he has parts of both Allura and her commander in his features, unlike the dark one. His hair and eyes are like Allura's, but his features, the texture of his wild hair, are all Keith._

_The dark one has no Allura in him, only Keith. And the subtle, but unmistakable, smell of fire. He lays on his back on a blanket, studying the clouds. There are books spread out around them. The three of them are clearly supposed to be studying._

_"King Tanfor," he answers absently, and Kate playfully smacks him. _

_"But I'm right!" he protests, and Kate shakes her head._

_"Please do at least pretend to pay attention," she tells him. _

_He grabs the book from her hands. "Only because you ask me so enchantingly," he teases, but something in me freezes. I recognize the look he gives her. It is the same look I once gave her mother..._

_The light haired boy snatches Kate's book back from him. "Come, brother mine. You might be the best pilot in the family, but even you have to pass Koran's tests from time to time." He smiles at Kate, and it is the smile Keith has for Allura, and my blood freezes again. _

_These two are brothers. And they both love my daughter. _

_She will have to choose between them._

_"And worlds will rise or fall, depending on her choice," my dead wife whispers in my ear. _

_"But how?" I ask, transfixed. _

_"Look closer," she whispers, and I do. The light one has strength and kindness and power around him, but the dark one almost pulses with power both light and dark. But not unkindness. Not cruelty. Not evil. There is goodness in him, too. He stands balanced on the razor's edge, and one push could send him over it, but which edge? Which side? _

_"That is why, Nyle, why you must wake up, and raise out daughter, and help the King and Queen of Arus, because they will need it, and Kate... she must choose. You must show her, through your words and your deeds, what she must look for in a mate." She smiles at me, and we are back on the beach. "It is not so very different from what all fathers should do."_

_"Except that worlds will rise and fall," I add._

_She looks at me long and hard. "I do not think I will visit with you again, not for a long time. I think I am holding you back." She cuts off my protest with a lingering kiss. "You must become a part of the world in which you find yourself. Live again, and love again." I start to tell her that's not possible, I'll never love another, but she laughs through our kiss. "I want you to love again. It's the whole point, after all," and she dances away from me, fading as she moves up the beach and the mist claims her._

_Damn. I look around and see only a rocky, desolate beach. Love really is the whole point, and without her here, my heart is in that other place, where my body lies in Med Center, and people expect me to die. _

_I can't die._

_My daughter needs me. I have to go back and be a good man, so she will know one when she sees him, and her choice will be a good one._

_And Keith and Allura, I have a feeling, are soon going to need all the help they can get. Two brothers, only one Allura's son... I can't imagine. _

_And so, with one last look at the beach around me, I decide to wake up. I decide to come home._

VVVVV

"And that, sir, is the whole terrible story," Keith said, standing perfectly at attention in front of the split vidscreen.

Admiral Graham leaned back in his chair, absently stroking his chin. After a while, he surprised them all by laughing. Keith, Lance, and even Allura looked at him in confusion. "Well, I'm glad to see you finally come out with it," he said, addressing himself to Lance. "I only wish it had been under better circumstances."

"Sir?" Lance asked, surprised and a bit confused. "You aren't angry?"

Admiral Graham sighed. "No, of course not. Galaxy Garrison is not easy to fool, despite what brash young recruits might think. I've known who you were for a long, long time now, McClain." His face turned serious again. "If you had come out with this sooner, though, perhaps things wouldn't be quite so dire." Lance had no reply; he only looked more anguished. Allura hadn't thought that was possible.

"I have to say that I can foresee this getting very messy," Dr. Christopher said from the other side of the split vidscreen. "We must assume Lotor still has your sister. And he still has half the company, until and unless we can prove otherwise." He pulled off his thick, owlish glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. Lance had been surprised but pleased with the change in company leadership; Elena Kragen was high on his list of people to throw in front of an advancing zombie horde as a distraction while he ran the other way. He also knew Lotor had made a huge tactical error in underestimating the man. If Lotor thought he'd just replaced Kragen with someone who was easily intimidated and scatterbrained, he was in for a rude awakening. Dr. Christopher was as shrewd as he was intelligent. If he didn't like the old man so much, he would have gone so far as to call him devious; Alan Christopher's lab had been one of the few safe retreats of his childhood, and he had taught both McClain children how to play poker, betting with gingersnaps, of which the man was inordinately fond. "But I have to tell you, Lance, that your sister seemed... quite... comfortable... when last I saw her. I think it best, for planning purposes, to assume Lotor will retain his half of the company, either because we cannot prove coercion when we recover her, or if we do not recover her at all."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Allura asked on Lance's behalf. She could sense his inner turmoil, the way his stomach had just heaved...

Dr. Christopher looked at all four of them quickly, calculating. "You might want to hear this alone, Lance. It is... unpleasant."

"Just tell me," Lance growled, his hands formed into fists at his side.

"Very well." The little man looked far away and very old, suddenly. "Your sister showed no signs of abuse or coercion of any kind. She had none of the marks of physical abuse; no bruises, nothing. She was articulate and spirited, and did not appear to be drugged. The conference took place in the Prince's own private chambers, and when she appeared...at his side... she was..." The older man swallowed nervously. His cheeks were flaming. "She was dressed in, um, _nightclothes_. As was he. They had both obviously just awakened. Together."

Keith and Allura shared one quick glance as they both felt Lance's flare of intense anguish and rage. Keith clamped a restraining hand on his friend's arm.

Dr. Christopher looked puzzled then. "And, most strangely, he seemed _protective_ of her. I truly believe he fired Elena at least in part because of the horrible things she yelled at Charlotte. And he had this way of standing in front of her, as if he was trying to shield her..."

"What are you trying to tell me?" Lance growled through gritted teeth.

"That your sister may no longer be an unwilling hostage," the small owlish man said reluctantly. "At the very least, I doubt we will be able to prove coercion of any kind, nor will an annulment be possible, since the relationship has almost certainly been consum..."

"Impossible," Allura declared hotly, cutting the professor off.

"Perhaps," Dr. Christopher admitted. "But we must consider the possibility that Charlotte's share of the company is unrecoverable, and plan accordingly."

Lance picked up a chair and threw it against the wall.

"Easy, Lieutenant. Irrational rage gets us nowhere," Admiral Hawkins barked.

_Focus_, Keith ordered sharply into Lance's mind. "What do you have in mind, then, sir?" he asked his commanding officer on the other side of the screen.

"The Alliance is in agreement with Galaxy Garrison as to the vital necessity of removing Lotor from the helm of McClain Corp. He has us in a virtual choke hold. He has been requisitioning shipments of weapons, fighters, technology, and materials of all kinds, and amassing them on Doom." Allura gasped in horror, the blood draining from her face. "That's right, Princess. The odds are very good that Arus is the first stop on a galaxy-wide march of conquest on a scale we have never seen before."

"I am assuming you have some sort of plan, sir," Keith said.

Admiral Graham smiled. "As a matter of fact, I do. And it should be arriving soon. Within the next couple of days."

"And what, exactly, may we expect, sir, if I may ask?"

"I wish I could tell you more, Commander, but rest assured, it's the best we've got. If your team and mine can't stop Lotor, then we might as well all start learning Drule."

"I already speak it, sir," Lance snapped. "And that only solves our defense concerns. What about the source of the problem? Lotor's controlling share?"

"_Only_ solves our defense concerns," Keith muttered softly.

"I've been working on a solution to that, too," Dr. Christopher said eagerly. "But it's a bit more involved. I am afraid the whole thing may wind up in intergalactic court before it's all over, or even call for a special summit. But in the meantime, I have already reorganized McClain Corp. into four distinct departments: Weaponry, Spacecraft, Research, and Materials. The four departments are poised to begin operating independently of each other at any moment; each are headed by directors whom I trust. What I propose is this: Split the company with Lotor. You can even let him choose. I can almost guarantee he'll choose the least important two."

"Which are...?' Allura asked, intrigued.

"Why, Weaponry and Spacecraft, of course," the little man said, as if he was adding two plus two.

Admiral Graham laughed. "The Prince of Doom may well have lost this war when he appointed you acting CEO, Professor."

"I don't understand," Allura said, frowning. "Aren't weapons and spacecraft what _we_ want, too?"

Keith turned to her, a calculating gleam in his eyes. "Not necessarily."

"Any idiot can put a fighter together," Lance said, smiling a little for the first time since the conference began. "But the real power lies in the ability to make and design new and better fighters and weapons. Research and materials. Lotor will find himself outclassed and out-designed. Brilliant." Dr, Christopher smiled at him.

"But only if there's some massive backup when he throws his first wave at us," Allura cautioned. "Research and development take time."

"Not too much time," Dr. Christopher promised. "I have a few things up my sleeve."

"I just bet you do," Lance said, remembering how many gingersnaps he'd lost to the man, so long ago.

"And you shall have it," Admiral Graham said, smiling broadly as well. "I promise, you shall have it. And soon." With a nod to Dr. Christopher and the Admiral, Allura cut the connection and sat heavily in her chair at the head of the conference table, deep in thought. She looked at Keith, at her dark-haired angel, and longed to set down the heavy weight of leadership, if just for a day, and slip back to their initial quest for the Water Tribes, to the deserted beaches, the isolated Isle of Mists, where they had first come together, and it had just been the two of them...

_Soon, love_, Keith promised, sensing the direction of her thoughts. _This war will end, or at least, the current situation, and then, I'll take you somewhere far, far away, with beaches and sun. I would love to take you to my home; you would love it there, the West Coast of what was once the United States, where I grew up..._

Allura smiled wistfully at her dark angel, at the beautiful pictures he sent her way: beautiful sunsets on a long, wide beach, bonfires, swimming, looking for shells. As wonderful as it sounded, she knew they would need a spare Lion pilot or two to be able to do that. Never again could they afford to leave Arus unguarded. _A spare pilot,_ she thought sarcastically,_ or a Voltron clone..._

VVVVV

Kiari had never seen a coffin craft before, so she had no way of judging its size. To her, it was one of the most frightening things she had ever encountered. In a way, though, she was strangely grateful to have a glimpse of the kind of craft that had carried so many of the Hell Beasts that had destroyed her people and her planet. It helped demystify the monsters, just a little. Seeing the massive craft made her suddenly realize that the hated and feared creatures were just weapons in a long and nasty war. They were not divine beings come to punish her people and her planet, nor were they indestructible. She felt her resolve return once again; she _would_ see this war ended, and her people avenged.

But she knew had to warn the castle, as reluctant as she was to break comm. silence. She knew they would probably prefer to fight it in space, if they could. There was less of a chance of damage to the castle and to people, that way. She had maneuvered far enough away from the coffin craft, she thought, to be in any direct danger from it.

She looked at the poor, unconscious girl behind her. She was unsure what would upset Lance more: the fact that she had sneaked away to Doom on her own and then knocked his sister out _twice_ now, or that the girl was raving and wanted to return to her kidnapper. _Oh, and I'm arriving with a coffin craft, as well_, she added. _Thrilled. He's going to be just thrilled to see me, bringing a Robeast and a raving sister_...

With a deep, shaky breath and a quick silent prayer, she opened an encrypted channel to the Castle of Lions. "Castle Control, come in, please. This is the Clan Leader of the Fire Tribes of Arus, and I have an urgent message for..."

There was a scuffle and a muffled yell on the other end. It sounded like someone had been pushed out of his or her seat. And landed hard. "I don't know whether to yell at you or kiss this console," Lance said, and suddenly it was all she could do to keep her eyes on the instrument panels, because they were so full of tears.

"_Lance," _she said, like a starving person.

"Open the visual, Kia," he ordered, and there was an edge to his voice that both frightened and delighted her. He sounded desperate, and happy. Or desperately happy. Or something... Her hand hovered over the instrument panel indecisively.

"But, Lance, there's..."

There was another scuffling sound. "Open the visual so that I may see your face, s_eertsa_, or you will wish you were still on Doom," Saran said, and then grunted as he was pushed aside again.

"Kia, please let us see you, or we'll keep shoving each other until we get really pissed and have to fight some kind of desert duel or something," Lance pleaded.

Kiari could have sworn she heard the words "Stupid Outworlder," and "Just _order_ her," when Lance said, brightly, "Oh, yes, I forgot." He cleared his throat and continued in a fake, formal voice. "Kiari of the Red Dawn Clan, I, Lance McClain, to whom you entrusted your eldest brother's medallion, therefore claiming me as kinsman in his place, I _order_ you, with all your deceased brother's superior authority, to _turn on the goddamned visuals and tell me what the hell is going on._" She froze in shock before hastily complying.

"Saran, _you told him_!" she wailed as a three-dimensional image of Castle Control sprang into view.

"I also told him he was in charge of your punishment, _seertsa_, as is right and proper, according to..."

"The customs of our people," she finished miserably, looking at an exultant Lance and grinning Saran. But her Red Lion pilot's blue eyes bored into hers with an emotion so intense she could not put a name to it, and she starting crying again. "Oh, Lance," she sobbed as the control room filled up with people. Suddenly, she couldn't stop her mouth, couldn't look away from the intense, almost animal, look in his eyes. "I'm so sorry... I couldn't risk contacting you... I was so deep inside Doom... I was in the maintenance ducts for _days_, I think...and the Pit of Skulls, too...and I had nothing but a single blade...and I had to knock out your sister, _twice_, and tie her up and gag her... I think she's drugged, or bespelled, or... maybe lost her mind... and I had to set Castle Doom on fire...and I stole back her fighter...and I didn't want to risk visuals because... because... there's a coffin craft right behind me... and I _missed you_...I was afraid I wouldn't see you again, especially when I was in the slave pits... these men tried to jump me...and all that's the _easy_ part..."

Lance was repeating certain key words as she spoke them, as if he was trying to follow a particularly difficult lecture on advanced particle physics. "Inside Doom... unarmed, setting fires... Charlotte, drugged, crazy, tied up? Fire... L-22... coffin... _slave pits_? Jumped you?" Lance was turning redder and redder with every word. Keith was suddenly there, pulling him back, a restraining arm on Lance's shoulder.

"Go slowly, Kiari," he prompted, as if talking to a hysterical person. As she heaved and sobbed over her instrument panel, she gasped for air. _Hysterical person. Oh, yes. That would be me._

"Oh...kay," she sobbed.

"Coffin craft," he said slowly. "And Charlotte. Go back to those two."

"I was just going to land. Didn't want to break comm. silence. But there's a coffin craft right behind me, so I risked it, to get out a warning," she said, her breathing slowing as the realities of the situation sunk in through her initial shock.

"And my sister?" Lance asked sharply.

"I have her," she said simply, softly.

"Where?" he asked, his face a mask.

"Tied up in the back of the fighter," she said hesitantly. The entire Voltron Force, along with Koran, Saran, and a couple of people she didn't recognize, had assembled in Castle Control and were watching the exchange in varying degrees of shock.

"Tied up?" Pidge asked incredulously. "Can we at least talk to her?"

Mutely, she shook her head no.

"Why not?" Pidge almost whispered.

Kiari started crying again. She knew she was bringing shame on her people and herself by crying like a five year old, but she couldn't stop. Perhaps Lance would punish her even more severely for it. "Because she is not in her right mind, I think. She has been fighting me since I found her. I think she will need Dr. Gorma." She choked back her sobs. "I had to knock her out." In Castle Control, dead silence greeted her words. "Twice," she added, and then broke out into fresh sobs. "I'm so _sorry_," she wailed, and only then did the room unfreeze.

"Sorry? You're _sorry?_ For rescuing my sister? From Planet Doom and Lotor himself? Don't be ridiculous." Lance crossed his arms and the intense blue fire was back in his eyes. "Just get your ass back down here, so we can get her to Dr. Gorma and I can punish you properly." She blushed as Keith and Allura raised their eyebrows at her.

"_After_ we defeat this Robeast," Keith added, rolling his eyes.

"Another day, another Robeast," Hunk said philosophically. "How far out, Koran?"

"A couple of hours yet," the diplomat said, his fingers moving over a touch screen. "But I can't pick up Kiari at all. You must be cloaked," he said, turning to the vidscreen.

"How far out are you?" Keith asked.

"I'll be hitting Arus's atmosphere in a half hour or so. Do you want me to drop the shields?"

"NO!" all five members of the Voltron Force yelled.

"Stay shielded until you land, Kiari. We'll have a med evac team waiting out front for you. In the meantime, we're going to make sure you have a firewall between you and that Robeast," Keith told her, his mind a whirl of attack plans and strategies, as it always was before battle.

"A Lion wall," Lance corrected, grinning at her. "And after that, you're grounded, young lady."

Kiari grinned back, her eyes shining. Soon she would be home, and this whole long nightmare would be over...

The image in front of her flickered, and a voice she didn't recognize broke in over the encrypted channel. It alarmed her, but the effect it had on the Voltron Force was electric.

"I hear you're having a little Robeast trouble," a booming, genial male voice said, just the barest hint of laughter underneath his words. An image of a dark haired, middle-aged man with a beard shot through with gray appeared on the vidscreen. He had the unmistakable bearing of an officer, and there were several other people in the room with him. Some of them did not appear human.

Koran actually gasped. "I'm picking up a massive ship, easily three times the size of one of Lotor's command ships, just outside Arus's atmosphere," he said, amazed. "It just appeared... out of nowhere..." The diplomat frowned. "It must have been cloaked..."

"Admiral Graham!" Keith almost yelled. The whole room stared at him, at this highly unusual display of public enthusiasm from their usually reserved commander. "But we just talked to you..."

"Nice to see you too, Commander," the Admiral replied. "You'll have to forgive our unannounced visit. I misrepresented our arrival on purpose. Keeps people on their toes, and the enemies in the dark, you know."

"Not a problem, sir. From a tactical standpoint, your arrival could not be better timed," Keith said, still ecstatic.

"So I hear," the Admiral replied dryly. "But I really must ask Princess Allura for permission to enter Arusian airspace," he said, suddenly formal. "Princess, Galaxy Garrison requests your permission to remain within your airspace, and to allow our team to disembark on your planet, as needed. My ship, the Explorer, would remain within orbit, of course, but we have a variety of..er...specialized...craft that we'd like to send down to your lovely planet. Fifteen of them, to be exact. And of course, the crew might need to stay a bit." Admiral Graham smiled. "We would like to formally offer military aid in your fight against Planet Doom."

Allura gazed at the massive ship on the screen, her brow furrowed in concentration. Koran stood right next to her, an identical look on his face. Keith wished, not for the first time, that he could hear Allura's mind speech with others besides himself and Lance, but he couldn't. He sighed. His princess had to consider the best interests of her people and her planet, and he knew how she felt about a potential Garrison military build up on Arus. He knew, as well, that she and Koran held opposing views on the matter.

She turned to Admiral Graham, her face carefully blank. "Arus is honored by your visit, Admiral, and by your offer of aid. But I am afraid I must ask you to be more specific in your request. What, exactly, are you offering? What kind of 'aid' can we expect?"

The Admiral nodded thoughtfully, as if he expected no less from her. "A fair question, Princess. We've had to keep this whole thing quiet because it's so highly classified, and because right now, we're the very best the Garrison has to offer. Some might call us Earth's last hope." Allura's eyebrows shot up. He motioned a dark haired young man forward, who bore a striking resemblance to Keith. "Let me introduce you to Commander Jeff Dukane, leader of the Vehicle Voltron Force, the Alliance's version of your own robot defender."

For the second time that day, Castle Control was deathly silent. And then all hell broke loose.

"_Two _Voltrons?" Lance said, incredulous. "Do you have the tooth fairy with you too?" Behind him, Pidge and Hunk were conferring in loud whispers. Koran and Allura had that look of intense concentration, and everyone else in Castle Control spoke amongst themselves loudly and excitedly.

Everyone, that is, except Keith. And Jeff Dukane. He stared at his counterpart, the commander of this second Voltron. There was something about him that made him uneasy. Something about him that he didn't like. Dukane stared right back at him, measuring him. But Keith trusted the Admiral, and if Hawkins trusted this man, then Dukane must be all right...

Allura nodded slowly. "You have us intrigued, Admiral. Please consider yourselves welcome guests on Arus, and I will have accommodations prepared for any personnel you wish to send. These specialized craft, however, must land in a specified location, and stay there while on our planet, for security purposes, of course."

"Of course," Hawkins replied dryly. Dukane's face darkened. "In the meantime, please allow us to demonstrate our good will, and our fire power, by disposing of this Robeast for you. Commander?" He turned to Dukane. "Is your team ready?"

"All three teams are ready and waiting, sir." He turned to the screen, addressing Allura directly, ignoring Keith. "Sensors indicate this Robeast is moving closer, and I understand you have people in the air, one of them injured?"

"Something like that," Kiari muttered. She was bare minutes from Arus's atmosphere, and the massive Explorer left her awestruck and a little uneasy.

"With your permission, your Majesty, my team will place itself between your people and the incoming threat, before engaging it directly," Dukane continued, acknowledging only the princess once again.

_Keith_? Allura said uncertainly in his mind. _What do you think?_

_The Admiral is a good, trustworthy man. If he says he can take out this Robeast, then I'm inclined to let him try._

_But fifteen 'specialized' craft, and personnel, here..._ she continued worriedly.

_It will be all right, Allura, it will. _Keith paused, looking at Lance, strengthening the barrier between them in his mind. _ And you know he wants to be there, when they land. He'll be torn in two, in the air._

Allura sighed and nodded. "Very well, then, Commander Dukane. But we will have our Lions on stand by. You may find the Robeasts here more challenging than any others you may have encountered." Her laugh was short and bitter. "Zarkon seems to make a special effort to send us his very best."

Jeff Dukane's grin was feral. "I'm counting on that, Princess."

VVVVV

He was waiting for them before she even touched down.

His white Voltron uniform stood out in stark relief against the landscape around him. Kiari gasped. She didn't know what was more shocking; she had been on Doom since the very beginning of the almost daily Robeast attacks, and the destruction was breathtaking. All around him, fountains and walkways were destroyed; the carefully nurtured soil was upturned and browning in the sun once again, the dirt choked with dead and dying plants. The very ground itself was ripped and torn with great jagged cracks and depressions where Robeasts and Lions had battled. Parts of the castle bore scorch marks and broken windows; the Eastern wing still lay in a heap of rubble, broken glass, and twisted metal. It was as if the period of rebirth and reconstruction on Arus had never occurred. Except that it had, she reminded herself fiercely.

The evidence of it stood in a loose group in front of the castle, waiting anxiously, five snow-white uniforms shining in the sun, their Lions grouped not far from them. Something inside her collapsed in relief as she saw them, all of them, her friends and comrades. Lance stood in front of them all, arms crossed, his face unreadable, Dr. Gorma and a team of attendants right behind him. The full impact of what she had done hit her, and she could not wait to fling herself into his arms and collapse there for a while.

But first, she had matters to attend to.

Unpleasant ones.

With a grim sigh, she squirmed to turn and face the girl still bound and unconscious in the back of the cockpit. Charlotte was still clad in her scandalous nightgown from Doom, and Kiari had nothing to cover her with. If she had hoped to protect his sister's modesty, she had failed, because the girl might as well have been unclothed. There was no way to hide what had happened to her from the people gathered in front of the castle. But Kiari knew delaying medical attention because of wardrobe issues was worse than callous.

She knew she was at the end of her strength; her body felt very close to collapse, and she knew she would need a period of rest, and soon. But it would have to wait. For what she hoped was the last time, she pulled the unconscious body of Charlotte McClain over her shoulder and slowly, carefully, climbed out of the fighter. She knew how weakened she was because she staggered under the girl's weight as soon as she hit the ground. She moaned in frustration before she could catch herself. The girl didn't weigh much, and she hated herself for the sudden evidence of weakness.

And suddenly _he_ was there, his strong arms encircling them both, somehow holding her around the shoulders and supporting his sister's weight at the same time. His body shielded them from view; he looked down at his sister, his eyes deep and helpless and sad, and took in her appearance, and she saw the fire in him blaze up, fierce and hot. He cradled her close to his chest, and suddenly Dr. Gorma was there with a gurney and blanket, and Lance laid her on it carefully, as if she was breakable glass, murmuring to her softly throughout the whole exchange, calling her little sister and baby girl, and Charlotte moaned while Dr. Gorma began checking her vital signs. Then, and only then, did Kiari allow herself to collapse.

Only his arms and quick reflexes kept her from falling flat on her face.

"Should have brought another gurney," Dr. Gorma remarked, looking her over as an attendant cut through Charlotte's bonds.

"I'm not sure I would do that," Kiari cautioned, and Dr. Gorma raised an eyebrow.

"Remind me not to make you angry," the doctor said. "This young lady is going to have one hell of a headache when she wakes up."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," she mumbled, and Lance scooped her up in his arms.

"Shush," he ordered firmly. "You're as weak as a newborn kitten."

"Am not," she said stubbornly, but she burrowed herself against him anyway. It felt _good_ to lean on someone else for a change. He smiled into her cinnamon scented hair.

Charlotte's arms were free, and someone was working on her legs, when she blinked and opened her eyes to the bright Arusian sun. "Hey there, little sister," Lance said gently as she blinked against the light and rubbed her numb arms. "Welcome home."

"Sunlight," Charlotte said slowly. "I haven't seen sunlight since..." her expression changed as fast as lightening from disoriented confusion to outright alarm, and she struggled to sit up, blankets falling around her waist. The Voltron Force, gathered around the three of them now, looked at her outfit with varying degrees of embarrassment, horror, and anger.

"And so it begins. Again," Kiari said wearily into Lance's chest.

Charlotte kicked the attendant who had been cutting through the ropes around her legs in the face. She tried to jump off the gurney, and suddenly it took three pairs of arms to hold her down. She fought against the combined strength of Keith, Pidge, and even Hunk, as the three of them pinned her back down against the gurney. "Arus. I'm back on Arus," she said, shocked, sobbing as she fought against them. "No, please, let me go. You don't understand. I can't be here. I need to go back. You have to let me go back," she wailed, and the Force stared at her in horror. Lance looked as if he had been punched in the gut. "I have to go to him," she choked out against her sobs.

"But you're home now," Allura said, trying to wipe away the girl's tears in a vain attempt to soothe her. "You're safe."

"No! Don't touch me!" she screamed, and writhed against the hands that held her even harder. "You took me away from him," she hissed, "and now he's going to be really, really angry."

"We're prepared for that," Keith said grimly through clenched teeth. He looked at Lance, who was standing stock still, his muscles tensed, Kiari still held tightly in his arms. _This must be hell for him_, he thought to Allura.

_I know_, she thought back, anguished.

"Please let me go back," Charlotte sobbed. "I _need_ to go to him."

Kiari struggled to stand, but Lance held her in a death grip against his chest. She could feel his muscles tense like steel beneath her. "I think she's been drugged," she offered weakly. "I can't be sure, but she said he gave her wine that tasted strangely, like something called 'cherry cough syrup.' I do not know the term, but she is clearly not in her right mind."

"That bastard," Lance hissed. He held her even tighter, and she wanted to protest that he was crushing her, but she did not.

"Witch," Charlotte yelled at her. "Kidnapper," and then she screamed, long and loud, before falling back heavily against the gurney.

Dr. Gorma grimly held up a hypodermic needle. "It's dangerous to sedate her, not knowing what's in her system already, but she didn't give me a choice." Lance watched as the Med Center staff converged around her and rolled his sister away.

"I'm ok, really, Lance. You can put me down now," she said. "I'm sure you want to go with her.

"I'm taking you with me," he told her, following his sister grimly. "You look like hell. When was the last time you ate? Or drank anything?"

She furrowed her brow, trying to think. She had been starving in the slave pits, and hadn't eaten at all while she crawled through Castle Doom itself. That meant she hadn't eaten since the Pit of Skulls, and there had been no water in the fighter...

"I don't know," she admitted. "I ate once, a day or two after I arrived..."

"That's what I thought," he said, his mouth set in a thin, determined line. "Are you hurt anywhere else? You said some pretty frightening things, like the slave pits, and being jumped by some men, and setting fires..."

"I am physically uninjured," she assured him. "But I have seen something horrible," she whispered. "Something that cannot wait. I must speak with you, and Allura and Keith, as soon as possible."

Lance looked even more depressed, which she hadn't thought possible. "Alright, Kia. But not now. We have... things... to deal with, in the here and now, and you need medical attention."

"But the Robeast..."

"Under control," he said. "For now, anyway. Come on, Kia. Let someone else carry the load for a while. Let me care for you."

She didn't argue. His strong arms around her would not let her go.


	16. Chapter 16: Strange Bedfellows

16

Author's note: Just a quick hello and an apology to everyone for taking so long to pick this back up. I have been wrestling with another project, but I think I've finally nurtured it to a point that I can turn back to some more fun stuff. So, the saga continues! Thanks to everyone who sent me reviews, encouragement, "Where the heck are you," and "Hurry up," messages, including the Winters sisters, Heart, Xia, and Mertz. I'm afraid I might not have picked this back up if it wasn't for you.

The Vehicle Voltron/ Lion Force Voltron relationship is adapted loosely from the Devil's Due comics. I was never a huge fan of the VV show, but it's time for this Voltron universe of mine to grow a little. At any rate, fans of the VV show may be surprised to learn how much the DD comics differ from the show.

This is rated a strong PG for some cursing and a mild adult situation.

Playlist: Pavement, "Father to a Sister of a Thought," and Mutemath, "Spotlight."

All standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc.

Chapter Sixteen:

Strange Bedfellows

"I'm not used to just watching, Keith," Allura fretted, standing between her Commander and Lance in Castle Control. "It just doesn't feel right."

"It's really ok, Allura," Keith assured her, not taking his eyes off the three dimensional projection of the coming battle. "We're standing by. You know we can be in the Lions and in the air in minutes, if needed."

"I just hate feeling like a bystander," she said quietly, but forcefully. "I had to stand by as Zarkon destroyed my planet, and sent Robeast after Robeast, for most of my life. I want to be out there, defending my planet, up there in the air, with them."

"You _are_ defending your planet, Princess," Koran told her, leaving his position at the main console to place his hand on the small of her back. "Think of what this could mean for Arus, having two robot defenders instead of one." Allura frowned slightly. It was well known that she and Koran disagreed on the subject of aid from Galaxy Garrison, but for now, she seemed content, if not excited, to nod at the diplomat and turn her attention to the image in front of her. She had already given their strange new counterparts permission to land and to house their 'specialized vehicles' on Arus; she supposed it was too late to worry about it now. She was committed. She had given her word. _But that doesn't mean I'm going to let my guard down_, she thought grimly. Over the years she had learned to give her trust sparingly.

The battle was unfolding in front of them. As she watched, more than a dozen strange vehicles left the safety of the Explorer at lightening fast speeds. A few were already in position, having placed themselves between Kiari's fighter and the oncoming threat as Commander Dukane had promised. She was having trouble counting them all, let alone seeing exactly what they were. _Are those the 'specialized vehicles' I agreed to house here on Arus?_ she wondered, intrigued in spite of herself. _I wonder what their crew will be like_. Allura had no direct experience with people from Earth until the Voltron Force had arrived. She found herself thinking about Commander Dukane. He looked so much like Keith. It was uncanny.

"I feel the same as you, Allura," Lance told her, leaning in to speak quietly in her ear. "For me, though, it's not just the defense of the planet that's got me anxious. It's the flying. I can almost hear Red growling at me to get up there and give him a run." He grinned at her. "I think it's the pilot in you, screaming to get out. Face it, angel, you're as much pilot as princess yourself, these days." His blue eyes sparked as he watched the battle unfold. "We've thoroughly corrupted you. You'll never be happy just doing princess detail again."

She found herself grinning back at him in spite of herself. He was right. Her fingers itched to have Blue Lion's controls under them, to feel the freedom of nothing between her and the air but the sleek machine that felt like a part of her. Lance was so right. She was a princess, first and foremost, and she would ground herself for the sake of her people if it became necessary, but to do so would be like cutting out a piece of her heart.

Koran, overhearing Lance, frowned. "Corrupted her, indeed," the aging diplomat murmured, shaking his head, but he did not explain himself further. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and wedged himself between Allura and the Red Lion pilot.

Allura rolled her eyes at Lance conspiratorily behind Koran's back. Lance winked back at her, but she could see that his heart wasn't in it. "_Lance,_" she hissed urgently. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you in Med Center? You know they need you there."

Lance hesitated. _But they may not want me_,_ let alone need me,_ he thought to her, the despair lacking from his face and demeanor plain in his thoughts. _Kiari is already recovering. Last I heard, she was yelling at the staff to stop treating her like a... how did she put it... a pregnant invalid?_ He grinned in spite of himself, and Allura struggled hard to choke down a giggle. _I think she's trying to replace me as Dr. Gorma's least favorite patient._ It was hard to imagine a life without the beautiful red haired warrior now. But the middle of an unfolding battle was not the best place to laugh at nothing. Keith raised an eyebrow at the two of them swiftly before turning back to the image of Arus's atmosphere.

"Coffin's opening," Koran announced, leaning in closer to the image.

Keith's glance drew Allura back into herself, back into the present reality, and back into a more somber mood. _But your sister..._ she thought at Lance, unsure of how to complete the thought.

The pain in his eyes was plain, now. _Still knocked out cold. Dr. Gorma said he would let me know the second the blood tests are back._ Allura couldn't help it. She slipped around Koran, whose attention was mercifully absorbed by the action in front of him, and grasped Lance's hand in a supportive hold. She stayed by his side, holding his hand, not caring who saw them or what they thought. The only person whose opinion mattered, to her, about whose hand she held was Keith, and he wouldn't think twice about it.

"You're so brave," she whispered. "To be here, with all that you and your family have been through."

He just shook his head, unable to articulate the feelings coursing through him. _Right now, I'm just really, really pissed._ He thought for a minute._ I'm just not sure at who. There's so many to choose from_._ Including myself. _

"They've begun their initiating sequence," Pidge said excitedly. Their youngest team member was almost hopping with excitement.

"Jee-zus. Will you look at that," Hunk breathed. "I would never have believed it." Keith was silent, watching as if his life depended on it.

High over Arus, the Vehicle Voltron Force had formed their version of the giant robot defender. Allura was impressed in spite of herself. It was every bit as big as their own Voltron, but she could make out minor differences. The head, for instance, was formed out of some kind of fighter. The robot appeared to have circular blades at its shoulders. The feet were formed from what looked like transport vehicles of some kind; other components that she had never seen before made up parts of the robot, too. "I wish I could hear them," Allura heard herself say as the robot moved its arms into some kind of salute. Koran looked at her sharply, and she clamped her lips together tightly. They had agreed to keep their opinions and thoughts to themselves until they had a chance to confer, privately.

"I'm afraid the commands remain classified, Princess, but you'll have the opportunity to look the vehicles over when they land on Arus. With a proper guide, of course," Admiral Graham put in. He beamed at her from a vidscreen within the Explorer. "_After_ we get rid of this Robeast for you, of course," he added, grinning. Allura couldn't help grinning back. As uneasy as parts of the situation made her, she couldn't help but like the man. He seemed direct and honest, and Keith liked him. That counted heavily in his favor.

"It's a squid," Pidge announced, frowning at the image of the battle. "Maybe a screamer, as well."

"Yeah, I see that bulge at its throat," Keith agreed, leaning so close to the three-dimensional image that Allura was afraid he might fall over. "Admiral, you might want to warn your people..."

A blast of sound drove Vehicle Voltron backward. The robot hunched over for a second. Allura could just imagine the ear-splitting pain the entire crew must be in. But the second Voltron wasn't down for long. It came back swinging, a sword of its own already forming in its hands.

"Cutting straight to the chase," Lance murmured.

Tentacles curled around the sword, snaking up and down its length in a gruesome embrace. The tentacles began to glow.

"Watch out!" three members of the team called out at the exact same time. Keith, Lance and Allura exchanged glances.

"Electricity," Lance guessed.

"It's a dull glow," Pidge corrected. "Not electric." He nervously adjusted his glasses. The squid Robeast's tentacles had writhed their way up Vehicle Voltron's arms. "Admiral, your team had better watch it. There's nothing like that in the Robeast Files, and we've seen almost everything." As they watched, the glow grew brighter. The second Voltron's sword was still loose enough to lop off some of the tentacles.

"I'll take that under advisement," Admiral Graham said. He, too, seemed glued to his projection of the battle. "You'll have to explain about these Robeast files," he began, but didn't get to finish his sentence.

The squid Robeast's remaining tentacles began pulsing with blue light that grew stronger by the second. Vehicle Voltron lost power with every pulse. Allura could see it happening; they all could. With each pulse, the squid grew brighter, and a different component of the giant robot went completely dark and inactive.

"It's leaching its power source!" Pidge cried out.

"Dukane! Come in!" Admiral Graham yelled from the deck of the Explorer.

"It's sucking us dry, sir," Dukane confirmed. Allura and her teammates could hear his voice as it flooded the Explorer. "Waiting for back up power. Any second now," he said, but they could hear the strain in his voice. Vehicle Voltron had lost power to both legs, most of its torso, and an arm in the embrace of the power-sucking squid Robeast.

"Admiral?" Keith asked, his face tense, his body coiled for action. "Just say the word, and we're there." He was half poised to run for the Lions anyway.

"We don't need your help, Kogane," Jeff Dukane snarled as Vehicle Voltron lost power to its other arm.

"Like hell you don't," Keith growled back.

"Back up power will be coming up any..." The commander of the Vehicle Voltron Force didn't get to finish his sentence. Power to the head, the seat of Dukane's command, went out. The squid Robeast roared in triumph and wrapped itself around the giant robot even more tightly. It began to pull at its limbs with all its strength. Allura could almost hear the metal creaking and straining.

"Admiral..." Keith said in a warning tone.

"I hear you, Kogane," Admiral Graham responded. "Just trust me on this. We've been in tighter spots before."

The Squidbeast landed a blow right against Dukane's fighter, rocking the robot's head back forcefully.

"They're getting pulverized up there!" Keith yelled. He closed his eyes tightly. The tension was plain on his face. _Allura? He's my commander, but it's your planet. As far as I'm concerned, it's your call._

_All right, Keith. We'll sort it out with him later,_ she thought at him, panicked. _This is no longer a diplomatic situation, as far as I'm concerned_.

Keith fixed Admiral Graham with a forceful glare. "They're sitting ducks. We're going up."

"I'm ordering you not to," Graham said calmly.

"It's my _planet_, Admiral, and I'm going to protect it, with or without your 'orders,' even if I have to do it alone," Allura snarled. She took off for her Lion at a dead run, not even bothering to see who was following. She missed the look of shock and anger on the Admiral's face.

"Kogane," he said warningly, but Keith was mere seconds behind Allura, the rest of the Force right on his heels. The Squidbeast landed another fierce blow against Vehicle Voltron's chest, shaking the robot like a rag doll. On the screen, the Admiral buried his face in his hands.

Keith's hands moved rapidly across several touch screens as Black Lion bounded into the air. "Team?" he asked over the comm. system. "Are you with me?"

"Are you kidding?" Lance asked, Red Lion climbing steadily upward in a fast spiral of flames. "When have I ever missed a chance to piss off the brass?"

Pidge groaned, trailing Black Lion in Green.

"Please tell me we did not just disobey a direct order," Hunk pleaded, pulling Yellow Lion alongside Blue. Clearing Arus's atmosphere, they could see the massive Explorer and the battle raging between it and the planet they had come to think of as home.

"I, for one, am sick of divided loyalties," Lance announced. "If this helps settle things, then great."

"You obeyed a direct order from _me_," Allura said, concentrating fiercely, doing her best to settle her frayed nerves by searching for the calm center inside of herself, the place Keith had taught her, the place where Nyle said her magic came from. "We'll sort the rest of this crap out later. Arus comes first, and Admiral Graham can just turn right around and go home if he doesn't like it," she raged. "Orders, Commander?" she barked at Keith.

Her commander sighed heavily. _I hope it's that simple, Allura_, he projected. To the rest of the team, he issued the standard beginning command. "Just blast the hell out of it, guys. Standard formation. You know what to do."

The Lions moved in a tightly grouped V formation behind the Squidbeast. It had wrapped itself entirely around Vehicle Voltron by now, and looked like it was attempting to squeeze it to death.

"Lance, Allura, fire and ice," Keith ordered, moving in right behind the Robeast with Lion Blades extended. "Be careful not to damage the other Voltron when you..." he began to caution.

He didn't get to finish. The Squidbeast pulsed one impossibly bright blast of blue before exploding backwards, flying through space as Vehicle Voltron punched it with its right arm, knocking Lance, Allura, and Keith head over tails like bowling pins.

"I _told_ you we didn't need any help," Commander Dukane growled. He sounded furious. "Blue Lion, watch your six!" he yelled, trying to warn Allura, but it was too late. She screamed as she found herself caught up in the Robeast's tentacles. Instead of draining her Lion of its power, however, the thing had changed tactics and was blasting her with the power it had collected from Vehicle Voltron.

Keith and Lance tried desperately to pull themselves out of their tailspins. "Blue Lion! Allura! Come in!" Keith yelled, pulling furiously on the control bar.

"It's charged," Pidge warned. "Don't touch its tentacles!"

"No kidding," Dukane said with thinly disguised sarcasm.

Lance tried mind to mind contact. _Allura! Please, answer us! Are you hurt?_

_Burns..._ she thought weakly to the entire team.

"Hang on, Princess," Hunk encouraged, poising Yellow Lion to blast at the Squidbeast's tentacles with torpedoes.

"We're coming, Princess. It's under control," Dukane assured her. "Attack sequence Gamma!" he called out. The giant twin of Arus's Voltron crossed its arms, reaching up and grasping the circular blades on its shoulders. "That roughly translates as stay the hell out of my way, Kogane," he added as Vehicle Voltron let the spinning blades fly.

Sparks lit up the atmosphere like a galaxy-sized thunderstorm. The Squidbeast let another ear-piercing wail as the blades sliced neatly through its tentacles. Blue Lion was hurled backward, away from the fray of battle, a lifeless tentacle still wrapped around its middle section. Keith and Lance dove for her. "Allura!" Keith cried frantically, still getting no response.

_I can't hear her, either, Keith_, Lance projected soberly. _I can't stand it. I can't lose another one, not one more woman who's important to me..._ Keith could hear the edge of hysteria in his second-in-command's thoughts.

"First things first," he snapped, although he was sick with worry and livid with rage. Black Lion took Blue Lion's front paws in his massive mouth. "Get that tentacle off her," he ordered. Lance used Red's claws and jaws, unpeeling the gruesome combination of machine and organic monster from their beloved Princess's inert Lion.

Defenseless except for its voice, the Squidbeast began shrieking as fast and as loud as it could. "Attack sequence Alpha!" Dukane called out. Vehicle Voltron brought its sword down straight through the Robeast's middle, cutting it in half. In the weightless outer atmosphere of Planet Arus, the creature's biological insides floated around the two teams while its robotic components sparked and spun crazily through space.

"I told you we had it under control," Commander Jeff Dukane said, rage plain in the voice that flooded everyone's cockpits. "You almost got us killed out there, throwing yourselves in the way like that, not to mention endangering your princess."

"_We_ almost got _you_ killed!" Lance thundered, incredulous. "You arrogant son of a bitch."

Black Lion flew, fast and furious, back towards the Castle of Lions. "We need a trauma evac team, Koran," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "_Again_," he added. His team members knew that voice, and it was not a good thing. He usually reserved it for Prince Lotor. "Oh, and Dukane," he added, almost conversationally. "I need to have a word with you. As soon as I make sure the princess is all right."

"My pleasure, " Dukane responded.

"Easy, boys," Admiral Graham broke in. "I want to speak to _both_ of you. As soon as possible. Koran, I offer my deepest regrets for your princess's injuries, and my sincerest hopes that those injuries are mild. With your permission, I'd like to accompany my team to your planet's surface. It seems we have a situation at hand."

Koran was silent for a long moment. "Very well," he said, his voice tight. "The princess did agree to host you. In her..." his voice nearly cracked. "_Absence_, I suppose it falls to me to make you welcome. You will forgive me if I am not present in person. I must see to her Majesty's welfare. Nanny will provide you with everything you need." Koran turned and practically ran towards Med Center. Admiral Graham, looking out over a shocked Castle Control, buried his head in his hands.

"Well," he said, to no one in particular. "That could have gone much better."

In their respective machines, Commanders Jeff Dukane and Keith Kogane both snorted at the understatement. At exactly the same time.

VVVVV

"I'm afraid," Dr. Gorma said absently, staring intently at the princess's bioscan, "if this keeps up, I'm going to have to request bigger quarters. Perhaps a plush waiting room. With Vehicle Voltron's request to bring their injured here, instead of treating them on the Explorer, Med Center is seeing more action than the skies over Arus, these days."

"He's joking," Lance said to no one in particular. He sounded half hysterical, half hopeful. "That's a good sign. Right?"

Dr. Gorma snapped his datapad shut. "It could be worse," he said soothingly, giving Lance the full force of his attention. "Forgive my bleak humor, Lance. You, more than anyone, should understand that sometimes laughter is the best way to deal with difficult things."

"_What_ difficult things?" Keith asked, his heart in his mouth. The princess lay on a cot in Med Center, crisp white sheets folded and tucked across her chest snugly. Her arms were crossed across her chest, moving slowly up and down in time with her sluggish breathing. She was so pale it alarmed him.

"The princess will recover. All data suggests we can expect a full recovery," he announced. Keith, Lance, and Koran crowded around her bed. They were one extra person over the limit for visitors, but Dr. Gorma knew there was no way he would be able to kick any one of them out.

"But?" Keith prompted. Dr. Gorma only started with the good news when he had something worse to tell them. "What's wrong with her? What happened?"

"I'm hoping your own analysis of the attack can tell me exactly what happened between that Robeast and her Lion. It wasn't electricity, exactly. That would have left some nasty, painful burns. The princess did experience some incredible pulse of energy, however. She arrived here with no discernable heartbeat, and her brainwaves were flat."

"You mean..." Lance choked out. Koran collapsed heavily into a chair.

"She had to be revived, yes," Dr. Gorma affirmed. "Whatever that pulse of energy was, it stopped her heart."

The three men in the hospital room froze in shock and terror.

"You said she would be all right," Lance said, but his tone made it into a threat. He was having difficulty seeing. His eyes were watering again, as they often did in Med Center, these days.

Keith closed his eyes and gripped the bed rail with whitened knuckles.

Koran said nothing.

"Yes, I said she would be all right, and I meant it," Dr. Gorma said firmly.

"But, how can you be sure?" Keith demanded, struggling for control. "What will happen to her in the long run?"

"You mean long term damage?" Dr. Gorma ran a hand through his thinning hair. "I can't explain it exactly, Commander, but her bioscans indicate completely normal activity. She's in a coma, which isn't exactly a good thing, but on the other hand, we can only assume her body needs it, to recover." He thumped the datapad, frustrated. "You're asking me to explain something I don't fully understand myself. From all indications, the princess should be seriously damaged, or not alive at all. Instead, it looks for all the world as if she did no worse than bump her head hard in Blue Lion. If you want explanations, I can't give them to you yet. I need more information on the attack itself to try to piece together what happened medically. But if you want good news, well, there it is."

"When will she come out of it?" Koran asked finally. In his chair under the harsh lighting of Med Center, he looked as if he had aged fifty years or more.

"I don't know," Dr. Gorma all but whispered. "You can never really tell with these things." No one else spoke, staring down at the sleeping princess. He shook his head finally. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, there are other patients to attend to. As you well know," he said, with a significant look at Lance. "Lieutenant McClain, if you'll follow me, I have the results of some of your sister's tests. If you feel like going over them, that is."

Lance turned from the princess with tears in his eyes. _Keith? _he thought. _Will you let me know if anything changes?_

_Of course_, his best friend thought back to him. _And you'd better tell me about your sister, as soon as you can_, he added. The two men looked at each other as if their reasons for living had just evaporated.

When he left, Keith pulled a chair right up by Allura's side, angling himself until he could lay his head across her heart. _Sweetheart?_ he whispered into her mind softly. _Can you hear me? Love?_ He didn't know he was crying until he realized the sheets beneath his face were wet. _I'm here, and I'm not going away,_ he promised her. He laced his fingers through hers. _No matter what_, he swore. Someone in the room was crying, even sobbing. _Poor Koran_, he thought, his eyes closed against the beating of her heart.

But when he felt the aging diplomat's hand on his shoulder, Keith realized he was the one who was sobbing, his head on Allura's heart, in front of her surrogate father, showing his love for her as openly as he had ever dared. Koran placed one strong, calloused hand on his head, and his other on Allura's folded hands.

"You love her, don't you?" asked the real father of the woman he loved.

Keith had no words in him anymore. He clung to the sheets of her hospital bed, crying, doing his best to nod his head without lifting his face from her heart. Koran's hands became an embrace, awkwardly trying to gather both of them in his arms.

"You love _each other_," he breathed, in a tone of dawning wonder. "I had not thought that such could be her future. A state marriage, for defense, for the survival of her planet... but Commander, you have brought all these things to Arus already." The sheets under Keith's face were even wetter, and he realized the old diplomat was crying too. "That I might see my Allura find love, after so much death and darkness..." Koran shook his graying head, sitting down heavily in his chair, his face holding the promise of a sunrise. "Well." He wiped his eyes and straightened his vest and tie. "We have to make her well, then, don't we?" he said, to no one in particular.

Keith did not move. Her heartbeat was the one thing holding his sanity in place. _I'll stay with you while you sleep, love. Until you are ready to come back to us. Remember our book of poems? Here's one I think you'll like: Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star..._

VVVVV

Lance followed the doctor like a man going to a hanging. Charlotte was still under sedation. Without it, she became violent and agitated. Lance stood in the doorway of her room, watching as his baby sister breathed slowly and deeply under a white cotton sheet. Her room was only feet away from Allura's. _Both of them_, he thought, his grief threatening to overwhelm him. _Both of them hurting, injured by that bastard, because I couldn't protect them..._

"Easy there," a soft voice whispered against his ear. She had snuck on him, as usual. Only the scent of cinnamon kept him from jumping and attacking her. That, and the knowledge that, even weakened from her long ordeal on Planet Doom, she could probably still take him single-handed. Instead, he relaxed against her as her arms came up around his waist.

"You are the only good thing that's happened to me today," he whispered back, staring at his sister's inert form, his feet curiously unable to carry him forward to her side.

"As are you, Fireheart," she said. He was too depressed, too brittle, to even complain about the nickname he hated. "You heard about the princess?" he asked. "About the second Voltron and the Robeast attack?"

She nodded, her green eyes deep and huge. "Of course. I was here when they brought her. She has a fighter's spirit, Lance. Allura will be fine." Kiari sighed, slipping around to face him without loosening her hold on him. "Come, Lance. You are the bravest warrior I know. Your sister needs you."

He shook his head mutely, terrified. "If he tells me what I know he's going to..." his voice cracked. "Kiari, I don't know what I'll do. I just got _you_ back, for god's sake. If I lose my sister and my princess too, I'll..." he choked, unable to continue.

"You will hold her hand, as I will hold yours, because she needs you. You are all she has in the world, Lance McClain, and I know you will not fail her. Come," she said, pulling him gently forward into the room where Dr. Gorma waited.

Charlotte's straight reddish-brown hair, almost the exact shade as his own, had been brushed until it shone. It was gathered back from her face with tiny braids interlaced with gold thread, much like Kiari's own. Her wrist was wrapped with a loose braided leather bracelet. A medallion not unlike the one he wore on his own wrist hung from it. "Is that... it looks like the one you gave me," he said, smiling a little.

"I hope you do not mind," she said, almost shyly. "I have been tending her with my own hands. Since they insist on treating me like a blind pregnant invalid around here," she muttered darkly, casting a swift, murderous look at Dr. Gorma. Lance thought he saw the man pale. He smiled. He loved her peculiar brand of humor mixed with death threats. It gave him the courage he needed. He drifted over to his sister's side, Kiari's hand on his shoulder.

"Ok, doc. Give it to me straight."

Dr. Gorma shut the door, all traces of teasing gone. Lance tensed. His little sister. She had been through so much already in her short life.

"We've found traces of the ah-ning plant in her blood. It's used recreationally in mild doses on Doom. It's most common effects are mild to moderate euphoria and lethargy. To the Drule, it is roughly the equivalent of drinking a few glasses of wine. However, for a human, especially one of your sister's height and weight, the effects are much more severe. It is possible that, if consumed over a period of time, she could have become addicted to it. It would explain the violence, confusion, and personality changes." Lance held Kiari's hand in a death grip. He had a sick feeling the worst was yet to come. "Ah-ning is completely legal on Doom, and would therefore not prove the kind of coercion needed for an annulment. The good news is that we can have her completely over it in a matter of weeks with no lasting effects. The not so good news is that we found another, much more dangerous drug in her system. Large doses of a synthetic drug, illegal on most planets, most commonly used as both an aphrodisiac and fertility enhancement."

"Fertility?" Lance echoed, horrified. "He... _aphrodisiac_? He... did you say... she..." Lance was moving his mouth, struggling to make sounds come out, but nothing did.

Kiari laced her fingers through his. "And?" she asked for him. "Is she pregnant, doctor?"

Dr. Gorma looked much sadder than he should have when he told them no.

"What else?" Lance asked in a flat tone. He was sickeningly sure there was more.

"We can find no discernable physical injuries, Lance. The ones she does have are from your mother's attack, not Lotor. Nor can we find any evidence that he... forced her." Lance struggled hard, suddenly, not to throw up. Dr. Gorma sighed heavily. "But we did find evidence of older... injuries... of that nature." Dr. Gorma fixed him with a hard stare. "Much older. Perhaps even dating back to her childhood." Lance felt his heart stop as a great rushing sound filled his ears. He suddenly knew what it felt like to be in a coma. Except that he was awake. "Lance," Dr. Gorma said softly, in the gentlest tone Lance had ever heard him use. "Charlotte was given a very powerful fertility drug. Lotor must have wanted, very much, to conceive a child with her. There is only reason why it didn't work."

His eyes were closed. Part of him was standing in Med Center, listening to Dr. Gorma, but the rest of him was back in Highlands Hall, holding Charlotte as she came to him, curling up next to him after another fight with their father. His thoughts began to move very quickly, so quickly they almost didn't make sense. He was holding Charlotte in his quarters in the Castle of Lions, the night she was kidnapped. _I want you to see someone,_ he had told her. _Someone you can talk to about all of it, our mother and our father_. _I just want you to be ok._ The last words he'd said to her. His mother's words, when she came to him with his half of the company. _It is good she is well used to monsters_, his mother had said. And she was, Lance realized. So much so that a scumbag like Lotor had been able to make her think she loved him.

"She can't have children," he heard, as if from down a very long, dark tunnel. He realized it was his own voice, not Dr. Gorma's. "That's the only reason she's not pregnant with that bastard's child right now." Dr. Gorma was speaking to him, assuring him she would be all right, she would get better, and Kiari was tugging urgently on his hand, trying to hold him. "Excuse me," he told them politely. "I think I need to lie down right now."

Lance passed out on the floor of his sister's hospital room as if it was the most graceful thing he had ever done.

VVVVV

Nyle Lochlan hid in his room in Med Center, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Part of it stemmed from his natural preference for solitude. Part of it was grief over Cat's announcement that she wasn't going to visit him anymore, and that he needed to live and love again. Part of it came from the shock of the last vision his dead wife had shown him. He had no idea at all what he was supposed to do with _that_ piece of information. _Perhaps nothing_, he thought hopefully. But he didn't think he was going to get that lucky. Ghosts of dead wives didn't come yell at you while you were in a coma and show you frightening visions of a possible future apocalypse unless you were supposed to _do_ something about it. He sighed.

But the biggest reason he was trying to remain unnoticed was because he had finally gotten his daughter back, and he didn't want anyone to realize it was past visiting hours, and take her away. He couldn't believe how much she had grown and changed in just the few weeks he had been away from her. He was determined to make up for that lost time as best he could, and he couldn't do that if they took her away again.

"Right, little one?" he asked her as if she could read his thoughts. She gurgled and tried to eat his long, loose blond hair. The answer came to him as he tickled her. _Why don't I just get up and leave? No one could take her then, and I bet no one would notice. They seem tremendously busy here_... It occurred to him to wonder why Med Center was so busy as he gathered their things and strapped his daughter across his side. He felt a touch of apprehension as he sensed the tension around him. _Something's happened. Of course it has. The last time I was awake, Arus was getting pounded by Robeast after Robeast..._ Frowning, his curiosity grew. He felt the unmistakable throbbing of powerful water magic nearby. It called to him with a strength he had not felt since he left the Northern Sea. He settled his gray cloak around his shoulders and poked his head cautiously out into the corridor.

He almost jumped back in his room again, startled by the overcrowded hallways full of frantic, rushing people, but he forced his shock away and confronted the first nurse he saw.

"Lord Lochlan!" she exclaimed. "I'll tell Dr. Gorma you're awake, and you can give me the baby," she said, reaching for Kate. Nyle grabbed her arm and held it firmly, but not unkindly.

"No," he said forcefully. "That won't be necessary. Just tell me what has happened, that Med Center is so busy." _That wasn't so hard_, he thought, pleased with himself.

"Of course you wouldn't have heard," the nurse said sympathetically. She smiled at him a bit too eagerly, but Nyle ignored it. "The Explorer brought a second Voltron, and there were a lot of injuries when they tried to work together. The Squidbeast attack sent half a dozen injured our way, including the princess, who had to be revived, and some of the second Voltron's pilots. Lady Kiari is back from Doom, terribly weakened, although I would never say so to _her_, of course, but she rescued the Lady Charlotte, who is in very bad shape indeed. We still have people recovering from the Siren Robeast's attack, of course, and other attacks since then..."

Nyle tried to make sense of her words as she prattled on. As soon as he processed the list of injured, his alarm grew to a fever pitch. He thanked the nurse roughly and stalked away, to her obvious disappointment. She watched as he caught sight of someone in the hallway. "Commander Kogane!" he called out urgently, breaking into a run. The nurse stared at him as he followed the dark-haired commander into one of the larger rooms that held some of the patients from the Explorer.

"But that's not Commander Kogane! It's the other one, they look alike," she called after him, but he was already gone. She stood stock still, remembering his violet- blue eyes and flowing, white-blond hair. _That_, _without a doubt, is the most beautiful man alive._ She sighed, turning back to her duties in the over crowded Med Center.

VVVVV

Lisa Stirling came to consciousness gradually, aware of an all-over body ache and a pounding head. She remembered losing power to her vehicle while Jeff frantically told them all to keep calm, he'd have the back up power on soon, but even his usually reassuring commands were drowned out by the screaming Squidbeast that had wrapped itself around her entire Team, pulling and squeezing until everything went black.

_You're all right, Lisa_, said a cool, familiar voice in her mind. _Let yourself wake up slowly. Listen to your body. You're safe,_ Cinda said into her mind. She instantly felt better. Her friend's telepathic and healing abilities had saved and comforted her many times before. Now was no exception.

_Where am I?_ she thought back, still fighting her way out of the darkness.

_We're on Arus, in Med Center. There were injuries._ Cric, this time. He was from the same water planet as Cinda, and had even stronger telepathic abilities. _You hit your head, but Cinda and I were able to help you heal_, he told her.

"Who else?" Lisa struggled to ask. "Who else was injured?"

"Ssshh," Cinda told her. Her cool, calming hands rested on her forehead. "Besides you, the Princess of Arus is the only other really serious injury. Cric and I were just trying to decide how best to help her."

_That can't be good,_ Lisa thought, thinking of the diplomatic element of their presence on Arus. _And I'm the appointed diplomatic liaison...._

Sudden shouting sliced through the peace and calm Cric and Cinda had built so carefully within her pounding head. Jeff was yelling from across the room. Lisa groaned and tried to open her eyes. "Not yet," Cinda cautioned. "Their doctor will be here soon. Rest until then."

"I'm trying," Lisa snapped. _Jeff needs to calm down, Cinda. He can't be helping our cause, yelling at people like that..._

Cinda remained strangely quiet. Lisa listened closely to her commander and the person he was yelling at.

"I don't care _what_ you're the Lord of," Jeff Dukane raged.

"But you don't understand," the man insisted softly. "I'm a Water Mage. They're from Riordan, the water planet. I must speak with them."

"Listen, Lord of Wherever, _they're busy_. I have injured people, too," Jeff continued to rage.

"Then let me help," the unfamiliar voice insisted. "They practically pulse with power. They must sense it in me, as well. If the three of us could join, we could heal your injured, and the princess, too..." Lisa felt Cric and Cinda withdrawing from her mind, their attention keenly focused on the stranger in their midst.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jeff insisted. Lisa knew him so well. He was a good commander, when he could keep his hot head impulses under control.

She was startled to hear a baby wail.

It surprised her so much she sat bolt upright in the narrow bed, searching for the source of the sound despite the suddenly blinding light and the aching nausea it brought.

A gray-cloaked figure stood in front of her, blocking her view of Jeff. "Do not _ever_ touch my child," the figure thundered in a voice so deep and angry it made her shake. The gray-cloaked man raised both hands, palms out, towards Jeff. Cric and Cinda cried out at the exact same time. Lisa watched in helpless terror as the stranger lifted Jeff into the air with one quick, sweeping motion of his hands and slammed him, face first, into the far wall. Jeff slid down the wall, unconscious. Lisa cried out in horror and jumped out of the bed, trying to get to her commander, but wound up flat on her face as the room swayed dangerously underneath her.

_So much for diplomacy_, she thought miserably as she hugged the carpet and tried not to throw up. _We'll be lucky if they don't throw us off this planet by the next turning of their sun,_ she thought miserably. Cric and Cinda knelt on either side of her.

_You have to admit, Jeff kind of deserved that one, _Cric thought at Cinda.

A gray blur appeared in front of her, making gentle shushing noises. When her vision finally cleared, she was staring at what had to be the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. He was also the most panicked man she had ever seen in her life. He knelt in front of her, his violet-blue eyes frantic, his white blond hair escaping in wild tendrils from the leather cord that knotted it together loosely. He held a whimpering bundle protectively in the crook of one arm. "I'm sorry," he almost babbled at her. "I've never done that kind of thing before. I'm not all that used to people. Especially not angry ones. And when he grabbed me, _he shook Kate_, and I think he hurt her, and it made me angrier than almost anything ever has. I didn't think I could get that angry," he said, still staring at her, still shocked and frightened. "I just came in here because I felt them, they're from Riordan, they can help, I know they can, and we have so many injured, including the princess, and you as well," he said in a rush, his tirade cut short by lack of air. He breathed heavily, staring at her. Lisa stared back, still sprawled on the carpet, not daring to move until the room stopped spinning.

"I am Cinda," her blue skinned friend said, laying a calming hand on the stranger's arm. "This is Cric. We are indeed from Riordan, Water Mage. Healing is one of our abilities. We were just discussing how best to help your princess when you arrived."

The violet-blue eyed stranger had not stopped staring at her. The baby in his arms made happy little noises and pulled on a loose lock of his hair. "I'm Nyle," he said, almost desperately, his eyes pleading with hers. "Nyle Lochlan. Of the Isle of Mists. I'm the last Water Mage on Arus, and I've never thrown someone into a wall before." He looked as if he might cry. Lisa had a sudden and powerful urge to gather him into her arms and make the same shushing noises he had made for his daughter.

"That's ok," she said instead, sprawled out flat at Nyle's feet while the room spun crazily around her. "Cric said he deserved it, and Cric is always right about Jeff." Nyle looked so relieved that she did her best to smile at him. "I'm Lisa. Lisa Stirling, pilot of...

She wanted so badly to finish her sentence for this beautiful, earnest man, but her head gave a single, powerful throb that sent the room spinning again. Lisa Stirling, diplomatic liaison for the Vehicle Voltron Force, began her diplomatic overtures on Arus by throwing up on Nyle's boots and passing out cold.


	17. Chapter 17: Hell Hath No Fury

Author's Note: At the risk of sounding like a broken record, thanks to everyone for being so patient. Again. Those of you who have followed me through the first story, My Life in Your Service, got much better service. Back over the summer I was able to update much more quickly. But at least I'm still updating, and I plan to continue! Thanks to my faithful reviewers and readers. I wouldn't be able to do this if it wasn't for you.

Playlist: Pavement, "Father to a Sister of a Thought," and the New Moon soundtrack.

All usual disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc.

Chapter Seventeen:

Hell Hath No Fury

Pidge stood quietly just outside her door. It was not the first time he had done so over the last few days. He liked to come by and look in, just to see that she was really there, that she was safe and once again on Arus, even if she didn't think she wanted to be. Even if she still thought she wanted to be, belonged with... His gut twisted. He couldn't complete the thought. _Stuff it into the Lotor files, along with almost all the rest of the bad things that have happened to this planet._

He knew she wasn't in her right mind. Charlotte had only just stopped yelling and screaming, demanding to be taken back to Doom and Lotor, over the course of the last few days. Instead, a kind of desperate hopelessness seemed to fill her, a weighty sadness not even her brother could lift. Lance assured him that most of the drugs were out of her system, so the worst of the violence and insanity were past, but that they could expect a period of depression to follow. Neither Lance nor Dr. Gorma could say for how long.

"That's up to her," Dr. Gorma told him, peering distractedly over her charts. There were so many people in Med Center these days. "But visit her, by all means. It certainly couldn't hurt." The good doctor stalked off, leaving Pidge to stare into her room. She was curled up in on herself, staring at the hospital wall. It reminded him of the way he felt after his mother died, and suddenly, he knew what to do for her.

_It can't hurt to try,_ he told himself as he took the last few steps over her threshold and into her room. He held a big potted fern in his hands. He had considered flowers, but he was two years younger than her, after all, and the poor girl had been through hell. He didn't want to pressure her or give her the wrong idea. He had to fight down the familiar rage as he slipped quietly into her room and stood there, at a loss for words.

"Hi, Charlotte," he said to her back. She did not turn. He could tell she had her arms slipped tightly across her knees, pulling them towards her body fiercely, even protectively. "It's me. Pidge."

Still no response.

_But at least she's not trying to kick and scratch me_, he thought darkly, remembering the day Kiari had brought her back. Charlotte, out of her mind, had screamed at them all, wearing next to nothing under the bright hot Arusian sun. Pidge shifted uncomfortably, remembering what she had been wearing, but cut that thought off too. He was beginning to realize he had a kind of discipline over his thoughts that others didn't. Lance, for instance, or even Hunk, tended to give in to their feelings with little or no rational forethought.

He put the fern down on her bedside table and cleared his throat. "I thought you might like to have a growing thing again. Something green and alive. I always feel buried, when I'm stuck in a place like this." Still, she said nothing. "Well, that's all then." As he turned to leave, he thought he heard the softest of thank yous, but he wasn't sure, so he kept walking.

It continued like that for several days, and each day, she seemed to uncurl just a little. He brought her a succession of extremely unromantic plants. He in no way wanted to remind her of romance, or even that he was male, if he could at all help it. He didn't want to drive her behind her walls again. It was actually quite a challenge, finding unromantic plants. Lance gave him a funny look when he saw him bringing a cactus one day, but he didn't say anything. Today, it was a big tub of decorative grass. Pidge, getting desperate, contemplated bringing a bowl of algae on his next visit. To his shock, she started giggling.

"No one's ever brought me grass before." Her straight reddish-brown hair had been pulled back into a loose, messy braid. Wispy strands escaped all over her face. Pidge realized she was looking at him with something like a smile. "Are you allergic to flowers, or something?"

It took him a moment to realize she was speaking, and to him, at that. He could only gape at her, the pink plastic dish tub full of dirt and long grasses between them on the floor.

"Pidge?" she asked again, shyness and fear creeping back across her face. She started to burrow back into the pillow, hiding behind her hands. One of them was wrapped with a leather cord that held a medallion.

"No! Charlotte! I mean, no, I'm not allergic... I was, uh, afraid you were," he lied. Pidge was not very good at lying.

"I like them. The plants. They smell like outside." She sat up, _actually sat up_, and Pidge felt like crowing. "I haven't been outside in so long," she said like a drowning person. "Lance says I can go soon, just as soon as the drugs... when my blood is..." her face crumpled. He fought down the familiar rage as he watched her fragile peace collapse.

He dared to sit gingerly on her bed. "It's ok," he told her, holding her awkwardly. "You don't have to think about it. Ever. You're safe. He can't touch you here."

"You don't understand. _He got inside my head_. He's inside me, and he'll never leave." Her blue eyes, inches from his, were wild and huge and tinged with an emotion he didn't recognize. "And here's the worst. _I_ _wanted him there_. I invited him in. And I can't make myself be sorry for it, even though I _know_ he's evil..." She was actually panting, as if she had just admitted to killing someone.

"My mother died when I was eight years old," he told her, staring right back. "I went to live in an orphanage, where the kids were cruel, even abusive, and the adults who ran the place didn't care. That place is inside me, and I carry it still. Maybe I always will. I don't know." He realized his hands were stroking her hair and he didn't know how they had gotten there. "But one day, somehow, that place became a scar. Just a scar. A little ugly, a little sensitive, but not painful or scary." He brushed her messy hair back from her forehead.

"How?" she asked, leaning into his touch as a cat might nudge for petting.

"Chess," he said, too shocked to think, or make sense. "And particle physics. And coming here, and flying my Lion, and meeting..." He almost said, _meeting you_, but stopped himself in time. "Meeting kind people."

At that, she laughed outright. "Particle physics I totally get. But chess? I have no idea how to play chess."

"I can't believe I've discovered a game one of the McClains hasn't beaten half the galaxy at," he teased. "I used to play chess with my mother, in the hospital before she died," he admitted. "Even when she was tired and hurting, she played with me. It was kind of our thing," he said softly. "I'd teach you."

"I'd like that. But no more grass!"

"Tomorrow I was going to bring you algae," he told her solemnly. She gaped at him. It took her a long time to realize he was joking, but when she did, her face lit up like the sunrise.

Neither of them noticed the tall shadow watching from the doorway. Neither of them noticed as a reddish-brown haired, blue-eyed man who could have been Charlotte's much older twin slipped through the corridors of Med Center, blinking ferociously against the bright lights there that always made his eyes water.

VVVVV

Allura surfaced, shooting up through the almost crystal water of the lake's surface, blinking furiously against sun and the water in her eyes. _Not enough, not enough_, she chanted to herself. She could never get enough of the lake, and there was some reason why, but her mind didn't want her to remember just now. Instead, she laughed as she kicked against the water's surface and swam, impossibly deep, into the teal and turquoise waters of Lake Aeylene. Adelvine, a kind of kelp that grew in vertical strands and bloomed beautiful white flowers, grew nowhere else but here. Allura wanted to pull a huge bouquet of the flowers to carry with her to the surface, but she had other quarry, and the flowers would only slow her down. She kicked harder and dove further, determined to reach the bottom before her breath ran out. The bottom of Lake Aeylene was the very best part of all.

Rocks of every color sparkled across the lakebed's bottom. Translucent as glass, as sparkling as diamonds, they had enchanted Allura since she had been a very small child. She scooped a huge handful of them up, intending to shove them into her swimming clothes, only to realize she wasn't wearing anything. _I'm swimming naked in Lake Aeylene_, she thought, amazed, but the only thing that really bothered her about the revelation was that it meant she could only carry a handful of rocks back to the surface. Regretfully, she took one quick glance around her, trying to absorb the sight of the lake's shimmering bottom, stretching all around her as far as she could see. Obeying the building pressure in her lungs, she kicked against the bottom and swam upwards like a rocket, breaking the surface with a splash of droplets like watery crystal.

With a deep whooshing breath she staggered to the shore, dumping her precious handful of what her father called "lake glass." Cross-legged, her hair plastered down her back, she sorted through the pile, setting aside any blue-hued stones. _Why only the blue ones?_ she wondered idly. _Perhaps I'll make a necklace. Blue always has been my favorite color. Perhaps that's why I hate it that Nanny makes me wear pink all the time._ Allura frowned. Nanny? Pink? She felt a strange, nameless dread gathering in her stomach. Nanny wasn't here, and she hadn't worn pink in a long, long time. She squinted. She had no idea why it was suddenly so hard to remember things, but when she closed her eyes, she saw herself in white, blinding white, and there were others with her...

Her eyes snapped open and dropped to the small pile of blue stones in her lap. _Not yet, it's not time to remember that yet. I just want to stay here, and swim and play..._

"Allura." The voice was familiar, and very close. She ignored it, focused on her lake glass, her eyes fixed on her lap.

"Allura Blue," the voice said again, even more insistent. Mutely, she shook her head, tears gathering. She wanted the voice to go away. She didn't know why, exactly, but she had an awful suspicion that the voice meant change and probably pain.

The voice didn't seem to care. "_Princess_," it demanded sharply.

"Go away. I'm not ready yet. I'm going to make an Adelvine wreath," she insisted stubbornly. When a wave of water smacked her straight in the face, she cried out and finally raised her gaze, only to see Nyle gazing coolly back at her. Standing waist deep in the waters of Lake Aeylene, apparently as naked as she was, stood her teacher, mentor, distant relative, and former betrothed.

"There's more where that came from," he threatened mildly, his chiseled arms and biceps folded across his equally muscular chest. "You really should listen to me. It took tremendous effort to reach you, through your deep dreaming." A ball of water the size of a large hound hovered over his right shoulder, punctuating his threat. His wet white-blond hair lay plastered across his upper body. Allura blushed, glad that the water covered him from the waist down, and dropped her gaze again quickly. Her face stayed as pink as Nanny's despised dresses as she heard him leave the water and settle himself beside her.

"Um, Nyle?" she managed to squeak out.

"Mmm?" he said, in that lazy way of his.

"Why aren't we wearing any clothes?"

She felt, rather than saw, his shrug. "It is your deep dreaming, Allura Blue. You, for whatever reason, chose this place as refuge. I can only assume our lack of clothing is a manifestation of the way our minds are open to one another, in this place." She felt his deep rumble of a laugh, and it struck her just how long it had been since she had heard Nyle laugh. "Open minds are naked minds, manifesting in this place as naked bodies, maybe?" She risked a peek. He was sitting cross-legged, as she was, but had demurely placed his hands strategically in his lap. His eyes were closed against the sun, and he breathed deeply of the water-infused air. His state of undress didn't seem to bother him at all. It didn't surprise her. Nyle cared less about his appearance than anyone she had ever met. Of course he wouldn't care about being naked. But she did. Very much.

She cradled her legs against herself, letting her hair fall across her side like a curtain. "What is 'deep dreaming'? And why did you come?" Even as the words left her mouth, she knew she didn't really want to know. But Nyle seemed determined to ruin her swim.

"Your heart stopped, Allura Blue." At her sharp intake of breath, he turned his face away from the warmth of the sun. He met only her eyes. "You died," he said softly, kindly.

"I...I'm... are you telling me this is some kind of afterlife?" she said wildly, jumping up as if she had been burned. She felt wild and desperate. She didn't know what, but she still had work to do, things left unfinished. And _him_. Her dark angel. She could almost feel his grief, even here.

He continued to look only at her eyes. "You were revived. Your body lies in Med Center, with nothing more serious now than head trauma. Dr. Gorma cannot explain it, nor can any of the healers from the Explorer. But you will not awaken, to join your body. Keith will not remove his head from your heart, to reassure himself that it still beats. Koran leaves your side only under duress. Lance divides his time between you and his sister, who is still a danger to herself and others." He closed his eyes, sagging as if he was suddenly very, very tired. "I can't explain it all. We decided to try and reach you by water magic, and I am draining two others to reach you. There is little time, and others are injured." He closed the distance between them in one quick shuffle, taking her roughly by the shoulders. "Touch my mind, Allura, and come back to us. We need you."

A barrage of images rushed over her like giant waves, one after another, sweeping her up into them, sweeping away her sense of self:

_Two blue-skinned people, a man and a woman, pulsing with healing energy and an overwhelming sense of water. They were joining hands with Nyle, and the three of them were helping, healing, where they could._

_Med Center was crowded once again, and some people she knew, and some she didn't, injured from the Squidbeast's attacks. _

_There was a young woman with kind brown eyes, stretched out at Nyle's feet, smiling at him, comforting him, until the young woman, Lisa, threw up and passed out, and Nyle felt frustration and horror because he couldn't help._

_An angry man who looked like Keith yelled at him, and his baby cried, and he felt anger catch him up and strangle him, the likes of which he had never known before. _

_She watched Nyle sweep up the man who looked like Keith and slam him into a wall. She had time to marvel that strange, mild-mannered, bread-baking Nyle had thrown someone into a wall._

_Nyle was awake in a hospital bed for the first time in a million forevers, wishing he was anywhere else, but he had Kate back, and he was trying to slip away before someone came and took her._

_Nyle was on a misty beach with Cat, his dead wife, and Cat was mad. Mad at him. Cat said she wasn't coming back, and showed him a vision..._

Allura slammed against a wall in Nyle's mind. There was something there, something he didn't want her to see, something terrible... She pushed even harder, locked in a contest of wills with her teacher, and felt the barrier in his mind begin to collapse.

"No, Allura," he cried out. "Not yet. It's not time..."

"I have to know," she insisted, almost crying herself as she forced herself deeper into his guarded memories, hating herself for the violation even as she couldn't stop herself.

_Kate is a young woman, and she is beautiful. She sits on a blanket with two boys, one light and one dark, both near her age._

_I recognize the dark one. I have dreamed of him before. He looks exactly like the commander of the Voltron Force. _

_I recognize the light one, as well, because he has parts of both Allura and her commander in his features, unlike the dark one. His hair and eyes are like Allura's, but his features, the texture of his wild hair, are all Keith._

_The dark one has no Allura in him, only Keith. And the subtle, but unmistakable, smell of fire. He lays on his back on a blanket, studying the clouds. There are books spread out around them. The three of them are clearly supposed to be studying._

_"King Tanfor," he answers absently, and Kate playfully smacks him. _

_"But I'm right!" he protests, and Kate shakes her head._

_"Please do at least pretend to pay attention," she tells him. _

_He grabs the book from her hands. "Only because you ask me so enchantingly," he teases, but something in me freezes. I recognize the look he gives her. It is the same look I once gave her mother..._

_The light haired boy snatches Kate's book back from him. "Come, brother mine. You might be the best pilot in the family, but even you have to pass Koran's tests from time to time." He smiles at Kate, and it is the smile Keith has for Allura, and my blood freezes again. _

_These two are brothers. And they both love my daughter. _

_She will have to choose between them._

_"And worlds will rise or fall, depending on her choice," my dead wife whispers in my ear. _

_"But how?" I ask, transfixed. _

_"Look closer," she whispers, and I do. The light one has strength and kindness and power around him, but the dark one almost pulses with power both light and dark. But not unkindness. Not cruelty. Not evil. There is goodness in him, too. He stands balanced on the razor's edge, and one push could send him over it, but which edge? Which side? _

Allura snapped back to herself then. This time, she was the one who grabbed Nyle by the shoulders so hard her nails left crescent moons there. "Our _sons_?" she gasped, as if the world has just rocked beneath her feet. "Your _daughter_? The balance of the universe?" She pulled herself up to Nyle's face, standing on tiptoe to reach him. "What do you mean, _only one of them is mine?_" Her words came out as a hiss in her white face.

"You weren't supposed to see that," Nyle insisted. "You should not have the power to break through the barriers in my mind. I would keep you from that pain as long as I could. But you've grown so powerful, in this place."

Allura still had not released him. She stood, naked and cold as marble, under the warm sun on the shores of her deep dreaming, and she knew she had never been so brittle or so in danger of splintering. She could see them, through Nyle's vision: the one light, the one that was hers, and the one that was dark, the one that was Keith's, but not hers.

_My son. Our son._

_And Keith's son. Not mine._

She knew there was only one way that was possible.

Storm clouds rolled over Lake Aeylene. A howling wind spitting ice and hard water whipped up around them. Her eyes began to glow a solid blue.

Nyle, to his credit, only gripped her harder. His hold on her tried to force warmth and sense into her. "Do not lose yourself, Allura," he warned. "Not here. You might be forever lost."

Her eyes were still solid, glowing blue. Her skin actually crackled with blue fire where he gripped her. "I have no words for this, Nyle," she half hissed, half whispered. "I am going to kill, for this."

Even his hold on her failed. He watched as she ran for the lake, intending, he knew, to dive out of the deep dreaming and back to herself.

"Allura!" he cried out, hoping some part of her would hear him, would listen. "Remember: the best way to fight evil is with love. And children are easy to love. Children _teach_ us how to love, if we but let them..."

He watched her blonde hair disappear beneath the surface and forced himself to follow. His heart was so heavy in his chest he was afraid it would sink him to the bottom of the lake and pin him there. _Sweet goddess, what have I done?_ he had time to think before diving towards wakefulness, hoping to beat her back and get out whatever warning he could.

VVVVV

"I'm reluctant to discuss this without the princess present," Koran glowered from the center of the long, polished conference table. The aging diplomat drummed his long fingers on the tabletop, a sign of uncharacteristic impatience. His eyes glowed fever bright beneath his bushy eyebrows.

"I understand, and we are all grateful that you've agreed to hold this meeting anyway. I speak not just for the Explorer and its crew, but for all of Galaxy Garrison, and even Earth itself." Admiral Hawkins sat directly across from the castle diplomat, members of Vehicle Voltron's crew spread out behind him. Koran was grateful the commander of the second Voltron was not among them. Keith's hotheaded counterpart, Commander Dukane, had done little to endear himself to anyone in the Castle of Lions. The last he'd heard, Jeff Dukane was confined to his guest quarters, nursing an aching head and jaw. Koran fought down a smile. He would never have believed Nyle capable of slamming anyone into a wall, had there not been witnesses present.

"Of course we wish to speak directly with the princess, and we will certainly present any information to her, either privately or in another conference, if she so desires." A young woman with dark hair and eyes sat directly to Hawkins' right. Koran had been playing the game long enough to recognize a fellow diplomat when he saw one. This serious young woman was the one on the Explorer's team with the real information, and was likely the one authorized to make negotiations or offers of real and binding power. It was a clever gambit, really; she could pretend to hide behind Hawkins, or even Dukane, if need be, using them to stall for time or to make counteroffers. _Lisa,_ Koran remembered suddenly. _Lisa Stirling._ She had been one of the many Nyle and two of the Explorer's crew had healed. He fought down another smile. _After_ the Water Mage threw Jeff Dukane into a wall. _Dukane will never, ever live that down_, he thought with satisfaction.

Koran fixed the young woman with a cold look. He wanted to test her before the real negotiations began. "You're looking well, Lieutenant Stirling. The last I heard, you were," Koran made a big show of searching for a delicate term. "You were _indisposed_."

Lieutenant Stirling didn't so much as blush. Meeting Koran's sharp gaze steadily and calmly, she said, "Yes, I suffered a concussion during the attack. I was injured along with members of _both_ our forces, just as _both_ our forces were healed." She put emphasis on the word, her cool gaze still locked, unflinching, on Koran's. "How fortunate for _both_ our people that joining our resources with yours led to so much mutual benefit."

Koran's estimation of the young woman rose, but she was going to have to do better if she expected the kind of help he thought they were about to ask for. "And yet our very own princess lies in a coma, even now." Koran looked at her expectantly.

"We sincerely regret the princess's injuries. However, our two crewmembers from Riordan are working with your Water Mage even now to revive her. Lord Lochlan told me himself this would not be possible without the timely arrival of Crick and Cinda. It really is quite remarkable, the way our forces have converged at such a fortunate juncture." The dark haired young woman hadn't even so much as run out breath. Koran remained impressed.

"We understand your reluctance to hear us out," Hawkins admitted. "It's true we got off to a rocky start." Saran, standing just to Koran's left, snorted loudly at the understatement. Besides Saran, the rest of the Voltron Force stood with him as well. Only Keith was absent. No one argued with his right, perhaps even responsibility, to stay with Allura. "We intended only to help you stand against Lotor, and to offer aid in regaining control of McClain Corp. By all reports, you're going to need it. We all are." Hawkins grimaced, and Koran wondered what the Admiral knew that he didn't. "But we've come to you not just to aid your defense against a common enemy, but also because Earth itself is in dire need."

Lance, who had been staring morosely at his folded hands, sat bolt upright. "What do you mean? Earth in dire need?" he demanded sharply.

Hawkins spared him a quick sympathetic glance. "It's rather complicated, Lance. It has to do with the Explorer's true mandate, one that goes beyond simply defending Alliance planets and fighting the Drule. The Explorer..."

"Earth is overcrowded, to a dangerous degree, and you want to place immigrants here," Koran interrupted coldly. "The Explorer is just that: an expeditionary force, even more than a fighting force." The entire room gaped at him, except Lieutenant Stirling. He permitted himself a quick, but tired, smile.

"How....?" Hawkins sputtered.

"I've been doing this a long, long time," Koran said tiredly. He thought he saw a brief flash of understanding, perhaps even sympathy, in Lisa's eyes. "A good diplomat never gives up his sources. The princess is most reluctant to allow any kind of foreign presence on Arus for an extended period of time. She has been quite adamant about it. However, Arus is indeed under populated due to Zarkon's repeated attacks. Perhaps you've noticed." He allowed bitterness to creep into his words. "A non-military group of people, committed to making Arus their permanent home in every way, is something Her Majesty _might_ consider. With conditions, of course."

"Of course," Hawkins said dryly, leaning back in his chair. Nevertheless, Koran could sense the relief in the man.

Lisa leaned forward eagerly. "We would stand completely at your disposal as a defensive force, of course. And to prove we have no interest in a permanent military build up here, as Princess Allura fears, we are prepared to transfer official command of the Voltron Force directly to the crown of Arus." Every member of the Force stared at her, thunderstruck. "Of course, they would remain members of Galaxy Garrison, but orders from the crown, in the defense of Arus, would supercede those of Galaxy Garrison." She looked apologetic. "It would help prevent the kind of conflict we experienced with that Squidbeast, for one, as well as being a gesture of good faith."

"That is," Koran cleared his throat, astonished. "That is quite an offer. Just how many immigrants are we talking about here?"

Lisa and Hawkins exchanged quick glances. "Of course it's ultimately up to the princess, but we had hoped to start with a few thousand people, placing them in some of your more deserted settlements. We would, of course, help provide them with tools, materials..."

A sudden sharp pain just behind his right temple cut off Koran's reply. It was so immediate and forceful that he gasped out loud. Pain, and a fierce, focused rage, washed over him.

Beside him, Lance hissed and dropped his head in his head in his hands at the exact same moment. Not for the first time, Koran wished he could communicate with the rest of the Force just as Allura could. Lance's eyes were wild when they finally met his.

"She's waking up," he all but whispered. "And something's wrong. Very very wrong." At Koran's curt nod, Lance practically ran from the conference room, almost knocking down one of the older orphaned boys who had been pressed into service as a page.

"Sir," he began, almost shaking with fear as he bowed to Koran. "There's a tremendous storm building over the Castle of Lions. Strong winds, pieces of ice falling from the clouds, lightening strong enough to knock out inter-palace communications... Castle Control needs you immediately, sir."

The aging diplomat struggled to maintain at least some semblance of calm. "Gentleman, ladies," he said, standing up stiffly. "We'll have to continue this later. It seems we have a situation."

VVVVV

Keith ignored the burning pain in his neck as he crouched over Allura's prone body. It had gotten worse as the hours, then days, dragged on. He moved when he had to, but resumed the same painful position as soon as possible. It was a small price to pay for the ability to hear the slow beating of Allura's heart.

It was the only way he knew she was alive.

He had tried to reach her through the mental bond they shared, a bond made stronger through their love for each other, but even that had failed to penetrate the princess's blank slumber. He and Lance had tried, together and separately, and even Koran had made an effort. His last real hope lay with Nyle and the two blue-skinned telepaths flanking him.

He lost track of time as he watched the three work together. Nyle began murmuring under his breath, his face contorted with effort. The two telepaths began sweating, their faces similarly constricted. Nyle made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and pressed his hands harder against Allura. He seemed almost angry. It seemed like a few minutes, and it seemed like years, but after a while, Nyle's eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed across Allura's prone body. Keith cried out in helpless anger and rushed for her, but found himself restrained by a pair of silky bronzed arms. He could easily have broken free, but he recognized Kiari, and relaxed a little into her hold.

"Easy, sword-bearer," she whispered, pulling him back against the wall. "It is a good sign."

The two telepaths did not release Nyle. "He's in," the male said, confirming Kiari's claim.

"She has gone deep," the female said, her voice strained.

"See?" Kiari asked, her hand on his arm suddenly gentle. "He draws power from the two of them, as he tries to reach her. She has gone very deep into her mind." Kiari's normally stoic expression was tinged with alarm and sadness.

"Like a battery," Keith said in a flat tone.

Kiari looked at him sharply. "Yes, that is a good analogy."

"But why?" He couldn't keep the despair and frustration from his voice. "Why is she so deep inside herself? Why can't I reach her? Dr. Gorma says there's no medical reason she can't wake up..."

Kiari slipped her hand lightly down his arm until she held his in her own. "Perhaps she doesn't want to wake yet, sword-bearer," she all but whispered. Her green eyes almost pinned him to the wall with their forcefulness. "Perhaps it is for the best."

Keith felt a sudden chunk of ice bloom in his stomach. "For the best?" he echoed. "What the _hell_ does that mean?"

The red-haired warrior leaned into him, her cinnamon scent surrounding him. She had not released his hand. He felt an intense strength and goodness emanating from her, as if she sought to shield him with the sheer force of her presence. "I have been waiting to speak with you, sword-bearer. I have been unable to reach you alone since I returned from Doom. I almost told Lance, because he was there when it happened, but..." Her deep green eyes sparkled with tears. She shook her head sharply, as if to clear it. "This concerns you most of all, although I find myself involved too." Keith had never seen his best friend's companion so tongue-tied.

"Kiari." He struggled for calm. "Please. _Tell me_. This is not the best time, in case you haven't noticed," he added bitterly, but his words only seemed to make her sadder.

"There is never a good time for news such as this." Her eyes almost glowed in their intensity. "On Doom. When I went for Charlotte. I saw... I saw my aunt." Kiari hunched forward exactly as if she had been punched in the stomach. Keith stared. He had never seen Lance's fiercely passionate... girlfriend seemed an inadequate word. _Lance's love_, he corrected. He had never seen her so full of fear and remorse.

"My aunt. On Doom." It was as if all her tribe's best horseman were pulling the words from deep within her. "My aunt, on Doom. _Pregnant_." She whispered the last word as if she expected Keith to hit her.

He relaxed. For a moment, he thought she was going to tell him something apocalyptic. It was certainly bad news for her and her tribe. Keith could only assume the woman had been taken in one of Zarkon's raids, suffering the same horrible fate of so many women in this war. He gathered the clearly traumatized young woman into his arms, speaking soothingly into her cinnamon scented hair. "How horrible for you," he said. "It shows how much you care for Lance, to leave your aunt in such a state, to return his sister. We'll do everything we can to get her back," he said. In the center of the room, nothing had changed, except that the two telepaths looked more tired than ever.

Kiari pulled back from his embrace, shocked. "Did you not hear me? My aunt is _pregnant_. And she's on Planet Doom. With the witch Haggar."

Keith felt his impatience building. His princess lay in a coma only a few feet away, and this desert Clan Leader had chosen now to lay her problems at his feet... He swallowed his impatience. Of course Kiari's problems were important, and she had admitted now wasn't the best time. She just hadn't been able to speak to him before now.

"I _am_ sorry," he said. "I just don't see what I..."

"_Keith_," she hissed, her fingers digging painfully into his shoulders. It was the first time she had ever addressed him by his name. "My aunt is the witch Morgana. She fled to Doom for sanctuary when the tribes cast her out. The child she bears is _yours_. I have seen her. I know when..._it_...happened, between you, and she..." Kiari shook him, wild and frenzied. "Do you see? Her dark prophecy comes closer to fulfillment. We have to _do_ something! That woman carries the very last of my blood in her womb, carries _your son_, and plots to raise him on Doom, among dark magic and witches, and I will not allow it, whatever you decide to do about it..."

He watched as her lips continued moving, her frenzied face pressed close to his, but he could no longer hear her. A great roaring filled his ears, blocking sound. Even the light seemed to be leaving the room. Everything around him seemed frozen and cold. Two words echoed around in his head. _Child. Mine_. He looked at Allura, pale and comatose while three people worked frantically to wake her, and she had never been so beautiful to him. Or so fragile.

"No wonder she doesn't want to wake up," he whispered, knowing he would hurt her to the very core of her being, even though he never meant too, even though it had been a trick, a spell, of the darkest magic. How could she ever want him now? How could he hurt her so badly and go on living?

_Child? Mine? Oh, Allura. Oh, love._

Her heart monitor started beeping faster and faster. Suddenly it was racing so fast it was almost a single stream of sound. He watched as color bled back into her face. Her chest rose and fell until it seemed she was panting in her sleep. Nyle moaned and stirred. The two telepaths disengaged from the Water Mage and stepped back against the wall, their expressions unreadable.

A blinding wave of pain and rage and fury drove itself into his head like a blow from Black Lion. He staggered to the ground.

He felt Lance behind him through the force of the headache. "She's waking up," his friend announced, pain making his voice crack. He sounded out of breath. "And she's _pissed_," he announced unnecessarily. "There's a storm building outside like nothing I've ever seen. Arus's atmosphere isn't supposed to be able to generate storms yet."

_Oh, Allura. Oh, love. I'm sorry._

He wondered, idly, how long he would live, once she told him she never wanted to see him again. He didn't think it would be long. He didn't _want_ to live without her.

Nyle seemed to convulse against her. He wrenched himself to his feet, sweat-soaked, and threw himself back against the wall.

"There is good and bad news," he said, his eyes wide with what looked very much like terror. Even so, he tried to sound calm and steady. "The good news is that we reached her, and her powers have grown. Considerably." He blanched. "The bad news is that she broke through the barriers in my mind, and found out something she shouldn't have. She's emotionally unstable, and potentially dangerous." He looked at Keith with something like pity. "Commander. Please let me shield you."

"He _knows_," Kiari whispered. She did not sound pleased.

"Knows _what_?" Lance demanded, frustrated.

"That I'm going to kill someone. Several someones. Right, Keith?" Allura sat up in bed, facing them all. Keith felt strangely calm. His Allura was awake and whole. Nothing else mattered.

Then he noticed that her eyes were a solid, glowing, electric blue and lines of crackling blue fire snaked across her skin. From the corner of his field of vision, he saw Kiari grab Lance and pull him fiercely to her, wrapping him in her shields. Nyle threw himself in front of the two telepaths, a shimmering blue bubble surrounding the three closely. Lance and Kiari stood bathed in a crackling red fire. No one moved.

_Oh, Allura. I'm so sorry,_ he thought, ice where his heart had been.

She stood over him. He hadn't seen her move. "You're _sorry_?" she demanded. Blue fire blazed up and down her entire form. "I don't know what I am, but it is definitely not _sorry_." She regarded him, her arms crackling blue fire as she crossed them under her breasts. He couldn't read the expression in her solid blue eyes, but his world grew even colder as she turned her back on him. "Tell Koran that a situation has come up. He is to carry on operations in my name, and to call on the resources of the Explorer if needed," she said calmly to Lance. He started to protest, but a sharp jab from Kiari shut him up. "Nyle, you are the closest in blood to the House of Altaire. If we do not return, you will rule as Regent until your daughter is of age. I name her as my successor, in the event of my... disappearance." Nyle stared in shock.

Keith finally stood and grabbed her shoulder, trying to turn her. "Allura, this is insane. What do you mean, _if we do not return_? Don't be ridiculous. You'll never have to see me again." He choked on his words. "I'll leave you in peace."

"No, Keith," she hissed. He barely registered the shocked faces of the few other people in the room. She threw herself on him, pounding on his chest, screaming at him even as tears flowed down her face. "Don't you see? _You are mine_, mine alone, and that witch stole a part of you, a part that was _mine_." She was crying still, and it felt as if they were alone together in the storm of her rage. "Don't you understand? _You will always belong to me._" He did not stop her, merely held himself still in the face of her pain and fury. "I know what we have to do, and we will do it, we will raise this witch's child, I will take him from her _because you are mine_, and I will raise him and love him because he is your son, and that is what this is between us. It isn't pretty, or gentle, not now, but it is real and it is love, and we will serve the love between us, even through the darkness."

Her fury and her incredibly increased powers scared the hell out of him, but he felt, and even understood, her need. He trapped her hands in one of his own. "You'll hurt yourself," he whispered, tasting his own fear as he spoke to her, tried to calm her. "I can't bear that."

"You're _mine_," she cried out. "Tell me. _Promise me_," and he realized, to his shock, that she was _afraid_.

He gathered her to him, holding her tightly, breathing in her lily scent. "I've always been yours. I've been waiting for you, my whole life, and before, I think. Since the stars were born." She clutched at his uniform, her hands gripping him like claws as she shook against him. She made rough, almost animal, sounds of grief in the back of her throat. _I'm so sorry, love. I would cut my own throat if it would help._

"Allura," Lance said carefully, as if she was a bomb that might go off at any moment. "Whatever it is, it will be ok."

"I have been thinking of a plan." Kiari stepped carefully in front of Lance, her shield of dancing red sparks still protecting them both. "Morgana is..._was_ my aunt. The child is the last of my blood. I want to help. _Please_," she pleaded, as Lance looked on, shell-shocked.

"_No_," Allura growled, whirling. "Not now. Later, maybe. Afterwards." She gripped Keith's hands with a violence that shocked him.

"After...?" Lance prompted.

"After we get back what's been stolen from us." Allura wrapped her arms around Keith as a rippling blue light surrounded them both, growing, glowing, until Keith closed his eyes, afraid of being blinded. His sense of place bled from him, along with all sense of sound. The only warmth came from Allura in the pulsing blue void. Her fury and her power astonished him.

He remembered the princess who had held out her hand to him so long ago, remembering the soft warm skin of her hand as he kissed it for the first time. He thought of all they had been through together, the good and the bad, and of how he had seen her grow in strength and courage. He had no idea what she intended to do, but he knew that if they made it through something like this, together, that nothing in the world or beyond it could ever come between them again.

He merely held her tighter and whispered, "I trust you."

Only to release her seconds later, throwing himself in front of her in a defensive position, as the blue fire of her power faded and he saw where they were.

A large room walled entirely in mirrors cast their reflection back at him from a multitude of angles. A familiar dining table, set with gold and crystal dinnerware, sat in the middle of the room. He remembered the room. He had watched Allura dine there with Lotor, wearing almost nothing but scraps of thin red silk, while he strained against his shackles, helpless and enraged. "Allura." He fought to keep his voice very steady. "You've brought us to Doom. To Lotor's private compound. Alone, and unarmed."

"You have your sword." Her eyes were fading back to their normal color, but Keith recognized just a hint of insanity there. "And I have all hell's fury, and the power to unleash it. The Goddess have mercy on these poor bastards who have given the witch sanctuary, because I surely will not."


	18. Chapter 18: To Catch a Witch

Author's note: This past month was almost completely devoted to National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoRiMo for short. Every November, insane would-be writers like me and, I suppose, many of you, can sign up to participate in a national effort to crank out a 50,000 word novel in a month. Many will attempt, few will win... and I won!!!! But let me be honest about the winning thing: everybody who finishes, and I mean everybody, is a winner, no matter how rough or horrible your novel is. The goal is just to create community and to get people writing. It's an admirable goal, it's a lot of fun, and it does raise money for worthy causes. But it's intense and takes a lot of time. But anyway, for all of you who've been wondering where the hell I've been, that's my most current excuse.

NaNoRiMo. Google it, check it out. My profile, with a synopsis and excerpt, may even still be up: I'm vitelmv.

This little corner of the Voltron fanfiction universe is what gave me the courage to first put pen to paper, or rather, fingers to keys. It will always be really special to me.

Thanks to all of you for such thought-provoking reviews of that last chapter, and for all of your "hurry up" messages, esp. Heart, Mertz, and keithandallura (hope I spelled that right.) It's true that I've left Keith more underdeveloped than some of the other characters, even the ones I created myself. I didn't mean to! It just happened that way. But looking back, Keith is one of the strongest and most deeply explored characters in the Voltron fandom, and I guess some little part of me was just kind of wondering what the other characters had in them. But. The saga continues, and anything can happen, and usually does.

Playlist: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, complete discography, in no particular order

All usual disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Eighteen:

To Catch a Witch

Keith didn't stop to think. His body was a blur of pure action, even as his mind raced onward, considering dangers, vulnerabilities, strengths.

He had his sword out in less than a breath, its hilt gripped tightly in his right hand, as he grabbed Allura by the forearm and spun her, pulling her against his back. Her waist length golden hair spun with her as multiple images flashed back at them, bright as sunlight, in the torch-lit mirrored chamber. He stopped just long enough to make sure they were alone in the room before he spun again, pulling her against the front of his body this time. His free hand whipped up to cup her head underneath his chin, his sword arm wrapping itself around her back like a band of iron. He dropped to the floor, rolling with her until they were underneath the long table and he was on top of her, his arms a cage around her as his eyes darted around the room.

She was still as ice beneath him. That worried him most of all.

A number of responses whirled through his brain. He wanted to shout at her, to rage against her, to crush her body to the floor underneath his until she cried out his name and they both knew, once again and without doubt, that she belonged to him and he to her, no matter what lay ahead of them.

He wanted to cradle her gently against him, kissing her face and her unshed tears. He wanted to brush the sweaty tangled mass of gold back from her forehead and stare into her ocean blue eyes until the electric blue of her fury passed away forever, never to rise again between them, never again to cause her pain.

None of that was going to happen if they died here.

"Why here, Allura? Why this room?" he said, asking the first remotely strategic question that popped into his head. "The..." he drew a deep, forceful breath. "The _witch_ is most likely near Haggar's part of the castle."

Allura winced beneath him. "I needed to see this room again, before we find _her_. I needed to remember a lesson we learned here. A lesson you warned me about." She pushed against his hold on her, but it was like trying to move Black Lion with a single finger. "Do you remember how he dressed me? How he chained you to the floor and beat and whipped you while I watched? And all he demanded to end your torture was a single kiss."

He bit his lip against the familiar, icy rage. "I'm still going to cut that bastard's heart out for it, too."

She ran her thumb against his lips and across the teeth that bit them. They could have been alone in her chambers; her attention was all for him. "You warned me that my body would betray me, that someone like Lotor would know this and would use it against me, against both of us. You told me my body's reaction _was not my fault_, that love and desire were not the same thing, and that _you_ loved me, no matter what." His heart gave a single powerful throb at her words. "Do you remember the kiss?" she whispered.

His only answer was a low animal growl and a tightening of his hold on her.

"You were right, Keith. My body did betray me. I responded to that kiss. It hurt you; it hurt us both." Calm and sanity was returning to her eyes. They were the clear ocean blue eyes he loved so much, instead of the flat blue glow of uncontrollable, unpredictable power. "Not so different, really, than what's before us now. And we survived it." She gripped his powerful forearms. "As we'll survive this."

He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "But first we have to survive this," he reminded her, releasing her to rock back on his heels. They were still underneath the oversized table. "And for that, we need a plan." For the millionth time, he wished he were better with words, and with feelings. It would make it easier to talk to her about this. "Did you mean what you said? About..." he gulped. The word was going to hurt, the first few times, like admitting to a dark and unforgivable sin. He tried it out in his mind before saying it out loud, to her. _Infant. Child._ _Baby. _"About the baby? About taking back what's ours?"

"Would you do it differently?" she challenged, pulling free of him and drawing her knees against her chest. "What if Lance hadn't come in time, when Lotor had me in his arms and you chained to the floor, watching? What if it were me carrying his child? Would you hate me for it? Could you love the part of it that was _me_?"

"I would kill him," he hissed into her hair. His fingers were digging into her shoulders, and he couldn't remember pulling her to him. He didn't remember moving, so vivid and horrifying was the picture she painted. "I would find a thousand dark ways to kill him slowly, torturously, inch by inch." She whimpered under his fingers, and he realized, to his shock, that he was hurting her. He loosened his hold but did not release her. "I would take his child and teach it to hate everything he stood for, and I would do it with love because it would be you, part of you, too," he admitted in a rush. "But there would be times when I would see _him_, looking back at me..."

"As I will see _her_, looking back at me," Allura whispered, locked in his gaze. "A hard line to walk, my dark angel," she murmured, and it was both a promise and a threat. "But we will walk it, you and I, because he is yours and because this is bigger than both of us. The balance of the very universe..." She trailed off, her eyes unfocused, before she snapped back to his face. "Would you have him raised here, among witches and dark magic, on _Doom_?"

"No," he admitted. "But you wouldn't have to be a part of it. I... we could find some other way."

"Don't you ever say that to me again, Keith Kogane," Allura hissed, but this time, it was a hiss of pain. "Either we're in this together, or we're not."

They were silent, together in their misery, for a while longer before Keith blurted out, "I know how much you want to kill her, and believe me, I want it too. But we can't hurt the mother without hurting the child."

"I won't hurt the child," Allura promised. "But I _will_ have justice, in a way that won't harm the life she carries. After that..." she trailed off, and her eyes held a flat blue promise of violence to come.

Keith shivered. The insanity was creeping back in, and he needed her whole, if they were to survive this and rescue his... "Son?" he echoed, shocked, her words fully sinking in. "Allura. I think you need to tell me what you saw, in a safer place than this, and then we desperately need a plan." He realized, with relief, that his military mind was kicking in, taking over when they needed it most. He gave the room one more quick scan. "Do you remember where the dressing room was?" She pointed wordlessly behind him. He took a deep breath and latched onto her arm again. "Good. Now stay behind me. Once we're in, provided there aren't any nasty surprises in there, we can work our way into the ventilation ducts. They go all over the castle. Kiari even drew a map for Lance." Once again, he wished they'd had more time, that Allura hadn't reacted out of rage. What he wouldn't give for that map now. Some blasters would be nice, too, and some explosives, as long as he was wishing. And some decent clothing for Allura. She was still in her Med Center gown and robe.

There was no way out but through, now. He shook his head, lacing his fingers through hers. "Ready? Stay low..."

VVVVV

"Would someone, _anyone_, please tell me what the _hell_ is going on?" Lance demanded, still covered from head to toe with Kiari's shield of tiny red dancing sparks. He fought the urge to brush wildly at them, as if they were ants and he was some tasty picnic. Magic still creeped him out, no matter how many times Kiari and Allura both had tried to explain to him that it wasn't true magic, only enhanced mental abilities peculiar to their bloodline. Allura glowing blue and disappearing with Keith while an unholy storm gathered over the Castle of Lions sure looked and felt like magic to him. _If it looks like a duck, and walks like a..._

Nyle spared him one swift, measuring stare before turning to the two silent telepaths practically plastered against the wall. "Thank you both for your help in reviving the princess," he said formally. "Please forgive me for this. There is no other way."

Then Nyle grabbed them both around the neck with each of his hands, moving so swiftly Lance couldn't follow his movements. He caught two blinding, pulsing flashes of blue around the telepath's necks, and then Nyle's hands were empty as they crumpled down to the floor.

Lance stared at the strange, baby-toting bread-baking magician who had caused serious bodily harm to at least three people over the last two days. _Mild-mannered my ass,_ he thought to himself, suddenly grateful for the shield he had just been trying to brush away. Out loud, he said, "Well, that was rude."

"You erased their memories?" Kiari asked, stepping swiftly between Lance and Nyle. Both of them were still swathed in the shields of their respective elements.

Nyle's nod was quick and speculative as he looked at Lance. "They will remember nothing, and we will tell them and anyone else who asks that they collapsed, drained completely by our attempt to reach the princess."

Nyle was still staring at him. Lance decided he really didn't like it.

"No," Kiari growled, low and warning, reading something he couldn't decipher in Nyle's face.

"No one must know of this, Fire Mage. There is more at stake than you know."

Kiari hissed. "The witch is my aunt. Or she was, before the tribes cast her out. The child is the last living kin of my blood, and I know exactly where she is, on Doom. I would say that I have a very strong stake in this, Water Mage." She raised her hands, palms out. "Lance was there, when it happened. And he is bonded to them. He is the third, of the ancient legend. Surely you can see it?" Nyle squinted at him and nodded slowly to himself. Lance fought down the urge to stick out his tongue, or something worse, like his middle finger. "He is our only link to them, while they are on Doom. I would not attempt what you are thinking, my friend," she warned, still between them, palms still held outward.

"Oh, go ahead and attempt it, Dough Boy," Lance growled quietly, stepping out from behind Kiari. "I promise I won't go as quietly as those last two did."

Nyle stared at him blankly before he dropped his shield. "You said you had a plan," he prompted, ignoring Lance with a small smile.

"I have several," Kiari said, dropping her shields as well. "But they aren't complete, and won't be, without more information." She laced her fingers through Lance's and pulled him towards Nyle. "You must show us what you saw," she said, holding out her other hand. After a moment, Nyle nodded and took it, and Lance found himself dragged along into a vision of the future that, as anything involving magic usually did, scared the hell out of him.

"What we _need_ is a refuge, some kind of hideout," he mused as the walls of Med Center regained their focus around him. He tapped thoughtfully against the blaster on his hip. "The Lakes," he said finally, staggering a little under the weight of so much concentrated, and unwelcome, knowledge. "They're mine; they're isolated, on Earth, and beautiful, and even _magical_, if one believes in such things. The Lakes are maybe the only thing from my whole childhood I actually _wanted_ as an inheritance. It's where I went, where I hid, when I first started running away from home." Kiari gave his hand a quick squeeze. An eerie conversation with his mother played itself back in his memory. _"When you need them, their power, they will be yours,"_ she had said.

He shuddered. Sometimes he felt like he was only walking in the steps of someone else who had lived before him, and all his fiery rebellion was a futile struggle against a life that had been laid down for him since before he was born. "We can hide Morgana there, or hold her, whichever, and the kid too, if we need to. If there's anything left of her, when Allura's done with her sorry ass." He grinned wickedly, but fleetingly. "This doesn't have to happen right away, on Morgana's timetable. We can suspend her; freeze her, in some kind of stasis, without hurting the kid. Until it's the right time for Keith and Allura, and for the rest of us touched by this. And Keith's son won't have to be raised on Doom, among witches and dark magic." The two others merely stared at him, waiting for him to make sense. _Hell, I don't know if I'll ever make sense of this,_ he groaned internally. He wrapped his head in both his hands and closed his eyes in intense concentration. "Kate's what? A few months old now?" At Nyle's cautious nod, Lance pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking even harder. "In your..." he gulped. "In your _vision_, Nyle, she was obviously older than both boys."

"By about two years," Nyle agreed thoughtfully.

"And the boys seemed to be close to the same age," Kiari added thoughtfully. "If not the exact same. They appeared as twins to me, mirror images of light and dark." She frowned thoughtfully. "Morgana is close to having the child. Even if Allura were pregnant now, the ages are all wrong," she mused.

"It is unlikely the people of Arus would accept a union between the two of them if Keith openly brought a witch's son to the marriage," Nyle said flatly.

"I'm pretty sure Allura's not pregnant," Lance said softly, with more seriousness and quiet authority than either of the other two had ever seen in him. "Yet." He grimaced; the knowledge caused him pain. He didn't _want_ to be tied to his two friends as tightly as he was. He kept trying to give up the bond; he would try harder, after this.

Kiari kept her face carefully blank at his words. She merely nodded once, sharply, and in that instant, Lance saw all the hard years of growing up in the ravaged, war-torn deserts of Arus under Saran's harsh tutelage step forward to shield some strong emotion. Lance did not have to wonder what it was.

He gripped her suddenly frozen fingers tightly. "I don't like it either," he said softly, but still her face betrayed nothing. No pain, no feeling. Only grim determination. "I don't understand it, and god knows I've done everything I know how to slip the bonds. Sometimes I forget about it. Or it forgets about me. Sometimes I can ignore it." He leaned forward, to whisper into her cinnamon and fire hair. "You help me forget. But you named it, and apparently you and Nyle can even _see_ it, something I can't. I'm the third. I'm connected to them," he whispered hoarsely. "_Literally."_ It was all he could do to keep from grinding his teeth together.

"Do you know your own Earth legends so poorly?" Nyle almost snorted.

"Probably," Lance admitted wearily. He looked at the two telepaths, still slumped on the floor, and wished, for a moment, that Nyle _had_ knocked him out. "Feel like enlightening me?" he asked, but even his sarcasm fell flat.

"Soon," Nyle promised, and Lance thought he saw something like pity in his eyes. "But for now, we need you, and your bond to them, if we are to reach them, _Lancelot_ McClain."

Lance shuddered. "I think I prefer Fireheart," he muttered, and Kiari actually smiled at him.

"So. If this is to be kept a deathly secret," Kiari paused meaningfully over the word _deathly_, her green eyes flashing to blue and violet ones, "then how are we to explain both Keith and Allura's disappearance?"

"Oh, that's easy," Lance said, relieved to be back on familiar territory. "We'll blame it on Lotor." And as he began to spin a fantastic cover story involving dark magic, a break in, a kidnapping, and a magical duel, he felt his spirits rise. "Everything that goes wrong is usually his fault anyway. What's one more thing?"

VVVVV

Lotor, Crown Prince of Doom and Scourge of the Denubian Galaxy, rolled over onto his stomach in the middle of the huge bed and tried not to throw up on the naked female form nestled against him. While he ran his hand up and down the sweaty skin of the unknown woman, trying to guess which one of his harem slaves he'd dragged in with him last night, he buried his head in the pillows against the rising nausea.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been hung over. Drule had tremendous tolerances for vices of all kinds, and Lotor prided himself on being exceptional in that arena, as in most areas of his life. Wine, weapons, women...

He groaned and buried himself deeper into the pillows. _Women_. His exploration of the faceless, nameless harem slave's skin turned into forceful shoves as he tried to push her off him. It didn't matter who she was. She was a woman, and somewhere underneath the deep throbbing in his head, he knew that a woman was to blame for the pain in his head and throughout his body. He was, in fact, having trouble breathing. Ah-ning smoke wreathed the bedroom like a heavy cloud, choking him.

The woman trembled against him, frightened.

"Get out," he growled, flipping over at last. He was just in time to catch a glimpse of pale flesh and shoulder-length hair as the harem slave fled his bedroom. He frowned. Was she limping? He shook his head to clear it. _No matter. The only cure for an ah-ning headache is more ah-ning..._ He sat up slowly, mindful of his pounding head, looking around for the tray that held his smoking implements.

"Highness," a smooth female voice greeted from the darkness. A silver tray slid, as if from nowhere, next to him on the bed. He fanned the small brazier and inhaled as the acrid smoke rose to wreath his face. After several deep breaths, his head felt better. Not exactly clear, but certainly less painful.

"So. Last night. There were two of you?" He coughed and inhaled deeper. "Show yourself. Tell me why she was limping, and summon my attendants."

A woman with skin so pale it was almost translucent ghosted forward in the darkness of his chambers. As she knelt at his feet, her jet-black hair flowed down around her ankles, covering her bare form. "Highness. I rejoice in your waking. I can only assume you injured the slave because she failed to please you. I beg your forgiveness; I have selected several more from your harem who meet the requirements you specified last night..."

He recognized the kneeling slave. She had been among his harem longer than most. Calla? He thought that was her name. "Requirements?" He frowned. _What in all the nine hells of Doom happened? And why, after all that ah-ning, am I still in pain?_ He absently ran his hand across his aching chest. It was not like him to lose an entire evening. But still, if there were more slaves awaiting his personal attention, it would be a shame to waste the opportunity. He slid naked from his bed and stalked over to a small table holding food, a goblet, and a decanter of wine. He ignored the food, and even the goblet, snatching up the wine to drink directly from the decanter.

"Does his Highness wish to see the slaves now, or bathe first?" Calla asked, still kneeling.

"Have my attendants draw the bath. Perhaps I'll take one or two of them with me," he laughed, gesturing for her to lead the way. He drank deeply from the crystal decanter. She rose smoothly and nodded, her alabaster skin a beacon in the darkened room.

"Highness," she said, bowing low after she opened the doors. "Perhaps these will be more to your liking. They are the exact coloring and height you specified. They are the last in your harem that fit that particular description. If they do not please you, then I will of course begin an immediate search throughout the slave markets and recently conquered planets for more..."

His cry of rage cut her off. The slave called Calla did not even flinch as crystal and wine shattered against the door she held open. _She has been with me a long time, indeed_, he thought, disgust welling even as a dull, unfamiliar pain rocked him back on his heels. The six waiting harem slaves were new enough to show their fear as he advanced on them, enraged. He pulled the nearest one close against him by her hair, shaking her until she cried out.

Each of the cowering slave girls had reddish-brown hair and blue eyes and pale human flesh, but none of them looked like her. Not even close.

With a snarl, he dropped the girl he'd been shaking. "It's their eyes," he said, realization washing over him, along with a fresh blast of pain. "They're afraid of me." He spun on his heel and stormed off towards his bathing room. "She was never afraid of me," he told Calla, who knelt, still as a statue, by the door. "She even laughed at me. But she wasn't afraid of me. Just of..." His voice trembled, and he hated himself for the show of weakness. "Just of being with me," he snarled, slamming the door to his bedroom so hard it shook the walls.

A shaking Drule soldier waited for him there with a summons to appear before his father in the throne room.

_Great, just great_, he thought as he bathed and dressed in the ceremonial battle garb befitting his station as heir to the throne, fighting against the unfamiliar pain in his chest that dogged him the entire way to the throne room.

_How many days, or is it weeks now, since she disappeared?_ he wondered, watching as his father's courtiers milled about the throne room, talking in low whispers in small groups. He did not join them. As always, he stood above and apart from their petty intrigues. He had more important things to deal with.

"Father," he said tersely, kneeling at the foot of the throne before ascending.

"Lotor." Zarkon looked him up and down with barely concealed disgust. "I'm surprised I could pry you away from your harems."

Lotor said nothing. Weeks ago, some part of him would have jumped to placate his father, to assure Zarkon of his worthiness and his ability to rule after him. But he felt as if that part of him had been turned to stone. He stood waiting under Zarkon's ruthless gaze. He knew his father would come to the point soon, and that there was nothing he could say or do to change his father's opinion of him.

Lotor, standing motionless, realized he no longer cared about his father's opinion of him. A strange new pain in his chest had replaced the part of him that cared.

He noticed absently that Haggar was missing. He almost asked about it, but then decided he didn't care about that either. His father would tell him, or he wouldn't. Or he would send his own spies to find out and answer later.

Zarkon's harsh laughter interrupted his thoughts. "Still no word of your concubine?" he asked, his yellow eyes glinting dangerously underneath the taunting. Still Lotor said nothing. "Then you will be interested in reading this," he said, motioning a soldier forward with a letter. An actual letter, Lotor marveled, on heavy cream paper embossed with a familiar seal. His chest gave a single, powerful throb.

Zarkon watched as he read through slatted eyes. "It says..."

"I can read, Father," Lotor cut him off sharply. "In over a dozen languages," he added absently.

"A divorce petition," Zarkon said, watching him carefully. "And a new claimant to the will. It seems that at least half of McClain Corporation has been taken from you with this new claim, and that you stand in danger of losing the other half in a divorce proceeding."

Around them, the entire whispering throne room had grown deathly quiet.

"The Red Lion pilot," he hissed, unable to say the escaped slave's last name. Black hatred filled him. He found, to his delight, that it washed over the strange pain in his chest, drowning it, erasing it. "He will not succeed in this. It is not possible. My... the contract cedes it all to me."

"A contract that is now threatened by a divorce petition," Zarkon repeated, relishing the words. "A petition and a claim filed with the Alliance, originating on Arus." Zarkon sat back, watching his son as if his pain pleased him. Lotor bared his teeth, welcoming the increasing rage. _We spoke together, she and I, about the pain of fathers. In my garden. In the night. It is always night, on Doom._

"Arus," Lotor hissed, drawing out the 's'. He crumpled the pages and ground them beneath his foot. "It always comes back to Arus, doesn't it."

"The Alliance has offered to act as a mediating body, since neither Doom nor Arus belong to it. A special hearing on Nerius, to hear the claims and charges of the throne of Doom and the McClain family..."

"There is no divorce on Doom!" Lotor yelled, erupting at last, his eyes tinted orange. "Arus, its princess, its precious Voltron and its pilots, have gone too far for the last time." He drew a deep, steadying breath. "I will not plead before some mediator for what already belongs to me."

As he swept from the room towards his private conference room, he welcomed Zarkon's mocking laughter. It fed the hot hatred that roiled through his body. Rage was the answer. He had tried women, wine, drugs, violence, pleasure, and pain, but only his hatred soothed him. Rage was the only thing that numbed the strange pain in his heart. Rage would fuel him as he took back everything, _everything_, the Voltron Force had taken from him.

VVVVV

Keith finished unscrewing the vent that would lead them into the vast system of ductwork that snaked all over Castle Doom. He had snagged the small metal object from the ornate vanity table, covered with all kinds of bottles, jars, tubes, and small implements. Whatever it was, it worked just fine as a screwdriver. He looked over the table once again, more carefully, and palmed a few other useful looking objects. The air felt charged, almost electric, as soon as he removed the covering to the vent. His skin felt like it was crackling with a fire like Allura's had been, but of course it wasn't. He didn't have any elemental powers. He wasn't even from Arus. Still, there was no doubt that the air seemed heavier, darker, than it had just a few moments before. He felt a sudden and terrible need to hurry. _Strange,_ he thought with narrowed eyes, practically clawing his way into the duct. _I don't like to rush into anything, especially battles, and especially battles involving lying shape-shifting witch-whores..._

"Wait just a minute," Allura halted him, tugging him towards one of the mirrored panels on the wall in the dressing room from so long ago. "I recognize that one. From before." At his puzzled look, she mutely indicated her hospital gown. "There were a lot of dresses in there. As impractical as I'm sure they will be, they've got to be better than _this_."

"_Dresses_," he snorted, rolling his eyes at her. "You turn blue, drag us halfway across the galaxy to catch a witch, and you want to change dresses." She rolled her eyes right back, and he turned to stand just beside the door with his sword drawn.

The air thickened in the room, prickling his skin like a cold wind chased by howling.

_I'm hurrying_, Allura hissed into his mind.

"Is it safe to do that here?" he asked softly.

_Only you can hear me,_ she thought at him. _And Lance, if he were closer,_ she added, with a touch of exasperation. Something silver and shimmering lay across the bed between them. Allura dropped her hospital robe to the floor. She stood on the other side of the bed, clad only in the thin sage-green gown Med Center gave its patients. _There wasn't much to choose from,_ she thought at him, making no move towards the dress. Her eyes were deep and unreadable as she stared at herself in the mirrors, lost, Keith thought, in memories.

_We don't have time for this_, he started to tell her, but then her almost bare reflection in the glass stopped him cold. _On second thought, it never hurts to remember what I'm fighting for..._

Keith stopped breathing momentarily. The second woman in his life he had ever loved, and the love he felt for the lost and hurting woman in front of him was as different from the feelings he'd had for his dead fiancée as a candle was to the sun. He'd loved Beverly, and wanted to protect her, have children with her, to make her laugh and hold her when she cried. He had thought that was what love was, and almost two years and several lifetimes ago, it was all he'd wanted out of life.

But he understood, looking at a lost and hurting Allura, staring at her own image as if trying to find herself in the tide of her private hurt and resolve, that love was no longer the only word that applied to the strange universe between them. There were other words, other facets, like desire and duty; sensual, aching need; loyalty, companionship, friendship, and hurt; anger, pride, and even, at times, there would be rage and hatred between them. They had gone beyond romantic love to a bone deep bond that was bigger than both of them, and he understood instinctively that if they did not honor this thing between them, it would swallow them both. Allura knew this already, he realized; she knew the depth of this private universe between them.

One could not exist without the other, now, and what hurt one of them, hurt them both.

The air from the ventilation ducts carried the barest scent of fire, and something else, something dank and bitter. He could almost hear it whispering to him, gibbering, mocking.

He looked sharply at Allura, at the woman he would protect above his own life. She was all rose and gold underneath her gown; her silky white undergarments enhanced more than they hid. Her ocean eyes were fever bright, and her wild hair crowned and cloaked her in gold down to her waist. He would remember this picture of her forever, he knew, even when they were old and gray and bewildered by the world around them.

Ignoring the pull of the fiery air that could only be Morgana's work, he pulled her back against him, sliding his hands to rest on her taut belly. He stroked her bare flesh lightly with his fingertips, moving his hands to press gently on her abdomen. He cradled her belly and buried his face in her hair. The air gibbered and taunted him. "Our child will grow here," he whispered, in defiance. She shivered against him. He moved his lips down her neck and paused at the base of her throat. "Or more than one, I think," he promised, punctuating his words with a bite that would mark her there.

"_Keith_," she moaned. Her voice hitched, and he realized she was close to sobbing, worn out by her rage. "She's here. Morgana." Allura hissed, and when she spun to face him, her eyes were wild again. "I can smell her fire, feel the pull of her. It's almost as if... as if she knows we're coming."

He was glad to see her wild eyes returning. Anger was the best weapon either of them had. "I know," he told her. "I can feel it, too. She's dangerous, Allura, and tricky."

He didn't remind her that Morgana had tricked him once already. Nearly fatally. He didn't have too. Allura knew it, looking at him, and her eyes rekindled their flat blue madness. As he watched tendrils of blue fire pulse up her arms, his own skin felt an answering heat and crackle as if he pulsed energy, too. But when he looked at his own arms, he saw nothing, except perhaps more shadows than usual. _To be expected, on Doom_, he told himself.

He kissed her and slipped the silvery dress over her, kneeling at her feet to cut slits in the dress up to the middle of her thighs. "Freedom of movement," he explained, his hand lingering on her exposed skin a bit longer than was absolutely necessary as he lifted her into the ventilation system. "The best plans are the simplest," he told her, following her shimmering silver backside through the tunnels of Doom. "How about this: You find her, we'll kick her ass together, and then I'll get us out of here."

He felt her pause in the darkness ahead of him. "I laid claim to the ass-kicking before we even got here."

"You did indeed," he conceded. He fingered the reassuring weight of his sword, her father's sword, anyway. He wondered what kind of challenge the witch would set the two of them, and felt a strange new invisible power dance like fire across his body as his rage mounted and matched Allura's.


	19. Chapter 19: The Best Laid Plans

Author's note: Hurry up notes really _are_ useful, you see, Steven, and Mertz and keithnallura! :) And thanks to everyone else for your patience, and to Mertz for your latest awesome and inspiring epic. Rock/write on! As always, it's a pleasure to hear from all of you. I just have to continue to beg you to bear with me. Endings are so much harder to bring together than anything else, and I really want to do a better job with this one than I did with MLiYS. I'll be wrapping this up soon, and starting on my Sven/Romelle story. BTW, this chapter contains one brief scene of gruesomeness and once choice swear word.

Playlist: a live Calexico and Andrew Byrd collaboration.

And, as always, I do not own Voltron, etc., etc.

Chapter Nineteen:

The Best Laid Plans

They crawled for what seemed like miles. Their only light was the occasional harsh, slatted brightness that crept up through the air vents servicing the corridors of Castle Doom. Keith had the additional beacon of the undulating, silver-encased backside of the woman crawling in front of him.

As much as he enjoyed the superb view, his protective instincts were screaming at him to grab her by the ankles and force her behind him, behind the protection of his body and his sword.

It was an argument he'd lost.

_For now,_ he corrected with gritted teeth.

_I can feel her magic,_ Allura said into his mind. _Can you? _A flash of blue fire joined the silver just ahead of him. _These tunnels go on for miles. We could spend weeks here, lost, looking... Let my extra senses lead us there._

Keith the lover and protector wanted to knock her out with a caveman-like grunt and throw her over his shoulder. Keith the Commander of the Voltron Force knew good strategy when he heard it, and the Commander overruled the Caveman.

But at least he could enjoy the view.

_Pervert_, she teased.

_You have no idea_, he thought back, their brief spat of playfulness an oasis in a wasteland of desperation and a growing sense of urgency.

The tunnels encased them like an endless tomb. Keith thought of Kiari crawling around here by herself for days, with no food or water, determined to find Lance's sister and discovering her aunt first instead, trapped here with no backup as Arus was pounded by Robeast after Robeast. He could imagine her despair and wondered how she had kept the darkness and madness at bay. An amazing woman. He marveled, again, that she and Lance had managed to find each other.

_She's one of us now_, Allura thought firmly, even protectively. _She's family. On more than one level._

_She's Morgana's niece_, Keith agreed. He wanted to voice the rest of it- that Kiari was tied to him by blood now, but the words dried up in his throat. He had to settle for practicing them in his mind, knowing it would get easier to say with time. Aunt Kiari, he imagined himself telling his...son...one day. _And there's that whole medallion thing, which I don't really understand._

_ She's also a distant blood cousin, perhaps third or fourth in line for the throne now. And yes, Lance doesn't fully grasp it either, but by accepting that medallion, he made himself part of the ruling family of all the Fire Tribes._

Keith choked, thinking of his second-in-command who'd spent his life running from responsibility that seemed to keep finding him despite his best efforts.

And felt a fierce, determined burning brush across his mind. For just a moment, the dark tunnels of Doom disappeared around him and he, Lance, and Allura were standing together in Allura's garden, their Voltron uniforms blinding white against the sunrise. Their muscles ached and sweat plastered their scalps, and he knew they'd been in their Lions, soaring through the skies of Arus in drill patterns and practice runs. They were laughing together, and somewhere inside the Castle a huge mug of coffee waited, along with breakfast with friends and teammates, and the skies over Arus would be blue-green and safe for one more day because of Voltron and their team and their love for one another...

Then the dark tunnels of Doom closed in on him again, but he was staring directly into a pair of wide blue eyes. Allura sat opposite him, her knees drawn up against her chest. "Did you feel that?" she whispered as if she had seen a ghost. Keith merely nodded. "What does it mean?"

"That he's coming for us, like last time." He released his sword, running his fingers across the patterns on the hilt in a movement that had become second nature to him now. "I never doubted he would. He doesn't have mind magic, so he was using our bond to tell us as best he could." Her eyes were still huge and unfocused, but he thought he saw relief there as well. "Allura," he called softly. "It's time. Get behind me. We're almost there." At her puzzled look, he swept his hand across the floor. "Kiari's chalk marks. We're close. Besides," he fought down a shiver. The dark electric shadows that had shot across his skin since air from the tunnel first touched him throbbed in warning. The air gibbered and taunted and stank of a strange metallic fire. "I don't need mind magic to sense her now." He started forward, her bright presence no longer a beacon guiding him, but an anchor behind him.

_I'm scared. I don't know what to expect,_ she thought.

_Whatever it is, we'll face it together_, he tried to reassure her, but even he felt his heart grow cold and adrenaline kick in overtime as the walls of the tunnel thinned around them and the ground beneath them grew damp and spongy. Eventually, the tunnel was gone completely and a thick white fog obscured his hands up to the wrists. Keith eased back on his heels, taking in his strange new surroundings as he automatically reached behind him to pull Allura to his side.

Endless, starless night stretched all around them. Thick fog provided the only ground cover. Dead, stunted trees twisted in on themselves, dotting the mottled gray sky in clumps and patches too thin to be called a forest but just thick enough to conceal... what? Keith's mind failed him. Monsters? Robeasts? Drule soldiers? An army of witches or some other horrors?

"Be ready," he murmured to Allura, jumping up and squaring his feet, not waiting for some menace to appear to extend his lazon blade.

"For _what_?" she snapped. He felt her at his back, her weight balanced perfectly in the half-crouch he'd taught her in one of their hand-to-hand fighting sessions. He remembered the soft but determined princess who'd been so quick to blush, and so easy to knock down, although he'd done it gently at first when they'd first started training her. Pride swelled within him as he realized she had turned into a formidable partner.

"For anything," he told her curtly as the commander in him took over. "I don't think we'll have long to wait."

He'd never been sorrier to be right in his life. They didn't wait long.

From out of a clump of stark, twisted trees a humanoid figure lurched slowly toward them. Indistinct in the endless twilight, Keith could nevertheless tell there was something strange about it even though he couldn't make out exactly what it was. It had the shape of a man, but it was covered in some kind of transparent fluttering material that ruffled out in places and disappeared in others as if plastered to its body by a strong wind, though not so much as a breeze disturbed the strange place around them. Every few paces the creature stopped and hunched in on itself. When it did so, its body went rigid and a convulsive shaking seized it. Then it would right itself and lurch forward a few more paces until it repeated the process.

"What in the name of the goddess is that thing?" Allura whispered, horrified.

"I don't know." Keith gripped his sword with both hands. "It's moving slowly, though, and it doesn't seemed armed..."

A horribly soft, gurgling moan of pain cut him off. The creature, drifting closer, hunched over in one of its convulsions and moaned again, its pain apparent now. Keith and Allura both froze in shock even as he felt a sense of irrational dread that had nothing to do with their circumstances building.

It probably wouldn't hurt them, he knew. It seemed to be in terrible pain, whatever it was. _Perhaps a prisoner, or something trying to escape..._ As it drew even closer, Allura sucked in a gasp and held it. The transparent, fluttery material was actually a shroud of white-blue flame, the hottest kind there was.

The creature was on fire.

It stopped a few paces short of them and shook, twitching and moaning softly, its face contorted, almost beyond recognition, with pain. Its skin was badly burned and blackened, raw red lines of flesh cracked and spiderwebbed around patches of burns.

For the first time in his entire life, Keith's grip on his sword faltered and he took an involuntary step backward. Beside him, Allura sobbed openly, one hand stuffed into her mouth while she rocked herself back and forth, her other arm clenched around her stomach. Tears streamed down her face.

"My God," Keith breathed, horrified. "What happened to you? What are you doing here?"

"_Sven,"_ Allura cried out, dropping to her knees.

The thing that had once been Sven spoke then, its blackened lips barely moving, its voice a scratchy hiss. "Keith." It moaned again. "Commander. _Bruder_. I do not know. I know only that I burn. I always burn. My soul belongs to her now; I serve her. I have lost my body, and I will burn until I find it." The burning soul of his lost teammate hunched over and whimpered in pain.

Keith felt a familiar black rage building deep inside him, and he welcomed it. He felt as if he, too, would burst into flames of rage and power. The Sword of Altaire blazed in his hand. Something inside him broke, then, as he watched the shade of Sven burn and whimper and convulse in front of him. Lines of black fire like lightening blazed up and down his arms; he could feel them whip across the rest of his body as he demanded, his voice deep and strangely double-layered, "What can I do? Tell me." His voice was deep as oceans, as hard as rock, as unforgiving as the desert, and he knew if he had a mirror he would see completely flat black eyes. Beside him, Allura gasped, her own blue fire crackling to life as if in answer to his own.

"Keith," she choked out. "Sweet goddess. You've found it. Your element. _Spirit_. Elemental spirit. It can call all the other elements, it can control all the others, it can bind and unmake and... and... it hasn't been seen on Arus since... I don't know... I don't _know_ what all you can do..."

The specter of Sven bowed its head. "Nothing can help me, my Commander and brother, until I find my body. I came only to warn you. The witch knows you're coming, and she has set many traps. This place is like a spirit world, or a dream, but the things that happen here are very, very real. If you die here, you die for real."

"Can I do nothing for you?" Keith asked with a deceptive softness, black fire dancing across his rigid body.

For an answer, Sven only drifted backwards towards the skeletal trees. "You can defeat her," he whispered. "I have done all I can, brother. I must go... I must keep looking... I never stop... my body is somewhere else, ignorant of this burning, of this life, split from me, and thankfully, only my spirit burns..."

"_Sven," _Allura cried after him, sobbing. They watched as he ghosted backward, jerking and moaning as he went.

Allura was in Keith's arms, clinging to him, lines of blue and black fire weaving themselves together around them. She shook like falling leaves in his arms.

"Ssshh," he whispered into her hair. "We can defeat her. That's how we can _start_ to help him. And his body is alive somewhere, somehow, and we'll find him again."

"Can you imagine leaving a child to the mercy of a creature who would do _that_ to someone?" she whispered, head bowed against his chest. "Can you imagine letting someone who would do _that_ to a person run loose around the universe? At first this was personal, but Keith, this is so much bigger than just us."

"I think that's what Nyle was getting at, when he mentioned legends and prophecy," Keith whispered, holding onto her for dear life as the white fog rolled by their feet and he thought about legends and past lives and ghosts. "Come on, love," he coaxed gently. "Let's go see what that lying witch-whore has in store for us."

They walked solemnly into the stunted trees, fingers laced together, following the subtle scent of a strange and wrong metallic fire, grieving for the ghost of their lost friend.

VVVVV

"There is no divorce on Doom, and there will be no summit on Nerius."

Lotor took up almost the entire vidscreen, dressed in the full formal battle regalia of a Drule Prince, his lips curled into the slightest hint of a sneer.

"It does not matter," Dr. Christopher said tiredly from his seat at the long conference table. Admiral Hawkins and Koran sat on each side of him. The rest of their friends and allies spread out around the table. Some of the crew of the "other" Voltron, as she had come to think of it, watched from the far side of the room. Charlotte and her brother remained standing at rigid attention. Kiari and Saran flanked them, silent sentries in the shadows just behind them. "Lieutenant McClain's claim, at least, is legal and binding. Reorganization and reassignment has already begun..."

Lotor made a disgusted noise. "Call it what you will. Arus and the Alliance _stole_ my bride from me, and now steal what they can of McClain Corp. None of it matters. I will reclaim it." He finally lowered his eyes, locking gazes with Charlotte. "_All of it_."

In spite of herself, her breath hitched. She swallowed hard against the sudden, confusing burning that swept through her. But not fear. Still not fear. Recent words, spoken to Pidge, echoed back to her:

_I invited him in, and I can't make myself be sorry._

Lance slammed both fists down on the conference table. His eyes sparked and burned. After a long moment, he said, in the calmest, deadliest voice Charlotte had ever heard him use, "I have no words for what lays between us now, you and I."

Lotor nodded slowly. "Blood feud," he supplied smoothly. She noticed the orange tint to his eyes.

"No." Lance had not moved. "It will be as if your very soul had never existed."

Lotor shrugged, and turned his attention to her. "Do you know what this means for you, my Lady?"

"How dare you even speak to her?" Lance growled. Charlotte placed a steady hand on her brother's forearm.

"I can speak to him," she whispered into his ear. "I'm strong enough. I think... I think I _need_ to. Besides, you _know_ we need information, to see if he mentions the princess or Keith, or anything else. I thought that was the whole point of this, to sound him out," she hissed. Lance looked uncomfortable.

She had let Kiari dress her like a warrior of her tribe, even though she didn't feel like one. Gold-threaded braids crowned her head. A long blue tunic that matched her eyes shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the open conference room windows. A long knife, one of Kiari's own and belted around her waist with the woman's own hands, lay within easy reach of her fingers. She clutched the medallion braided around her wrist so hard it dug into her skin.

But her single greatest weapon was her straight spine, proudly raised chin, and unwavering voice as she faced the man she knew was evil but who confused her still. "And what would that be, your Majesty?" she answered coldly, formally, and without fear. She felt the sunlight of Arus flame like a corona around her. He had always wanted to see her in sunlight. Now he did, and she was no longer his.

He stared at her for a long, long moment, and she saw the orange fade momentarily from his eyes only to return again, fiercer than ever. "It means that, according to Drule law, you are still my _wife_. If Drule authorities, allies, or sympathizers of any kind ever capture you, you will be returned to me. Immediately." He slammed his fist against the table and thundered, "_There is no divorce on Doom!"_

She felt her face soften, on the verge of remembering... she shook her head to clear it. Charlotte McClain felt her brother's fingers lace through hers, and she smiled against closed eyes. "There is no sunlight on Doom, either," she said softly, almost kindly, "And I belong to no one but myself."

She made the gesture that cut the connection between them, but not before she saw the Prince of Doom's eyes flame the most intense, insane orange she had ever seen.

Then Lance was folding her into his arms, whispering into her hair. "Well played, little sister. Well played, indeed."

"I did learn from the best," she said, wiping her eyes quickly as she pulled back from him. "Did that help?" she asked, looking around the room.

"It helped settle things with the company," Dr. Christopher said like a deflated balloon. "Talk about the worst boss ever..."

"And he didn't gloat about the princess, or Keith," Koran mused, lost in thought.

"Which can only be bad," Charlotte said sadly. "He said nothing about me for days and days, and look what happened."

Dead silence followed her statement.

"Well. I'd best be getting ready to go and rescue them, then," Lance said casually, as if asking what time it was.

Another long silence followed her brother's statement, but, as so often happened with Lance, all hell immediately broke loose, and then everyone began speaking at once, so fast and loud that individual voices became indecipherable.

"But how do we even know where they _are_?"

"What about Voltron?"

"What about the Explorer?"

"This whole things smells of Haggar... of dark magic..."

"What if Doom attacks?"

"How will you get back?"

"_Doom_? By yourself? Are you crazy?"

"Who's in charge, with both of them gone?"

The voices rose and ebbed like a confused, angry tide. Charlotte sank to the conference table and put her head in her hands. Her head hurt. She wished she were someplace, anyplace, else. She didn't want to lose her brother again, not so soon. But she couldn't imagine Keith and Allura anywhere near an enraged Lotor right now, or Zarkon, or his witch.

A cool, steady hand brushed her hair back from her cheek. "You did great," a voice like fresh air assured her. She smiled. Pidge.

"Silence!" a voice boomed, deep and thunderous, over the cacophony. Nyle.

Amazingly, everyone shut up and listened.

Nyle stood at the head of the conference table, behind the seat that would have been Allura's. The Monarch's chair. If it hadn't been for the fact that Hunk stood directly at his right shoulder, holding a wiggling Kate, Charlotte might never have recognized him. The Last Water Mage on Arus stood completely still. The air around him seemed thick, heavy with some kind of energy she couldn't quite see, but that drew her attention nonetheless. Gone was the long, concealing gray cloak of rough material that his dead wife had sewn with her own hands. Gone was the tall, misshapen staff that marked him as a Water Mage. All traces of the shy, bewildered refugee from the north were gone. Instead, he wore a sky blue tunic trimmed in silver and embroidered with the twin crests of Altaire and his own family's. A heavy silver belt fixed his sword prominently to his side; a blaster and a comm. unit were also within easy reach. Dark gray leggings disappeared into calf-length boots. The decorated hilt of a dagger peeked out just above the top of the right one. It, too, bore his family crest. A heavy blue signet ring glinted on his left hand. He was the perfect picture of an Arusian aristocrat, from the days before Zarkon attacked and eradicated almost all the noble houses, and his eyes reflected the heavy knowledge that he was one of the very last of his kind. His face was as beautiful as ever, though; his violet-blue eyes seemed even bigger than normal, huge above high cheekbones and a strong, clean jaw...

Charlotte gasped when she realized why. She couldn't help herself; a collective sigh seemed to rise from the room, and more than one female voice choked back a sob.

He had cut off every bit of his almost waist-length white blond hair. It was short and business-like enough to pass even Garrison regulations, now.

_It is official. The world is coming to an end._

Beside her, Pidge gaped, slack-jawed, at his sword master.

On her other side, Lance poked her in the ribs. "Cleans up pretty good, doesn't he?" he snickered with an evil eyebrow waggle.

"What...?" she started to ask, but Lance only leaned back in his chair, smugness radiating off him in waves. "You know something," she hissed furiously, but her brother merely sketched a phantom halo above his own decidedly non-regulation hair.

"Before Princess Allura and Commander Kogane were taken from the castle earlier today by powerful magic, she had time to issue a series of final orders. These orders were witnessed by the heads of two noble houses and the highest ranking military officer on Arus, making them legal and binding in every way under Arusian law." Lance and Kiari both stood. Koran nodded darkly and pulled on his mustache. "Some of them will not surprise you. Koran is to continue to act as Chancellor. Unable to form Voltron, we are to call upon the full resources of the Explorer and her crew as needed. One of those orders appointed me Regent in her absence. It is not a charge I welcome, or undertake lightly, but I nevertheless recognize its urgency." He raked his fingers through his cropped blond hair. "Even less welcome, but perhaps more necessary, was Allura's declaration of an Heir to the Throne." Nyle suddenly looked very tired. "After this long and bloody war, there are very few of us left with the old blood of Arus, and even fewer with any direct connection to the ruling House of Altaire. Allura's choice is logical and shows that she has the best interests of her people and her planet at heart. Tradition demands a formal Naming ceremony; however, the law allows for a simple Declaration in times of war and crisis."

Nyle looked positively white as he turned to take his daughter from Hunk. An unnatural quiet had descended on the room; it seemed more like a funeral than the naming of an heir. Koran had tears in his eyes. Nanny sobbed loudly. Nyle's hands shook as he held up his daughter in front of the entire room like he was offering her up for some kind of dark sacrifice. As if sensing the enormity of the occasion, she held herself perfectly still and blinked at them all, her violet-blue eyes and golden curls vivid against her long white gown spangled with pearls and crystals.

"According to the laws of our planet, until and unless such time as the reigning Monarch of Arus, Princess Allura, decrees otherwise, I present to you her Named Heir, Katherine Caitlyn Elizabeth Lochlan."

"_Bah!"_ Kate decreed, shoving her fist in her mouth. The room erupted again. Nyle clutched his daughter to him like he'd just pulled her back from a very hot stove. Then he handed her back to an astonished Hunk.

"In keeping with tradition, I ask you, Tsuyoshi 'Hunk' Garrett, to be Royal Guardian to the Heir to the Throne, to protect and watch over her, until Princess Allura or I release you from her service. Do you accept?"

Hunk, looking like he'd just been hit with a board, scanned the room until he locked eyes with Lance, who nodded encouragement. Still, all Hunk could manage was a jerky nod of his head and an ungraceful, "Uh, yeah?" Kate squealed and pulled on his arm, no doubt looking for something to shove in her mouth. From the shadows, Nanny stalked towards poor, bewildered Hunk like a lynx hunting prey.

Lance snickered.

"It's a genius choice," Pidge whispered. "He's great with kids. No kid will be better protected. Just watch."

"Just give her to me," the stout woman insisted, fists on her ample hips.

Hunk's eyes narrowed to slits. "What for?" he asked suspiciously.

"She must be properly attired, as befits her station, and she'll be wanting a nap, and..."

Hunk shifted Kate so that she sat in the crook of his arm like it was an easy chair. The huge mechanic deftly pulled the baby's fingers out of her mouth. When she squealed in protest, he turned his giant's face towards her, ignoring Nanny, and everyone else in the room. "Don't _eat_ your hand, Katie-bird." The giant and the baby regarded each other for a long moment. "There are more interesting things to do with it. Like _this_." His huge fingers feathered her tiny ones apart as if repairing the most delicate wiring in Yellow Lion. He blew gently on the tips of her tiny pink fingers. Kate's mouth made an amazed round "o" shape. "See? Feel the wind? You can do it too." He used a single huge thumb and forefinger to move her hand up and down, baby fingers spread to catch the air. She squealed and snuggled closer, moving her hands like the bird he had nicknamed her.

"She... he... he got her to stop eating things! Just like that!" Lance sputtered.

"Told you," Pidge said smugly.

"But her _dress_," Nanny wailed. "The Heir wears pink. She's always worn pink. And her honor guard wears a matching sash..."

Hunk growled dangerously. "No. Way."

"It's tradition," Nanny huffed.

"I am not wearing pink. _Ever_. And neither is she. House Lochlan colors are blue and gray. Deal with it." Hunk stalked off to the other side of the room, his back to Nanny, waiting for Nyle to finish talking to a group from the Explorer.

"I believe that is our cue to leave," a husky voice murmured from the shadows. Charlotte was suddenly choked by the scent of cinnamon as strong, bronzed arms pulled her close and tight. _Strange, I usually find her scent so calming, so pleasant..._ But when she looked into her brother's intent blue eyes, a mirror image of her own, ice traveled up and down her spine, and she knew that it might be a very long time indeed before she saw her brother, or her adopted warrior sister, again. They were going to slip away in the chaos, and this was goodbye...

"Be careful," Charlotte managed to choke out.

"I always am," Lance murmured into her hair.

"Liar," she countered, but he only grinned impishly.

Kiari grabbed her wrist. "This marks you as the last of my family," she said softly. "Promise me you will visit with Saran, and put up with his foul moods and over protectiveness until I return. Please? He is... he is my father as surely as any blood bond could make us. Will you be his daughter until I get back?" The fierce desert warrior looked murderous as she said it, but the steady stream of tears down her stoic face spoiled the effect. Charlotte could only nod. She did not ask where they were going, or when they would be back. Her voice had stopped working, and her vision wasn't so hot either. Something to do with the tears streaming down her own face as she watched them slip away. And then she was crouching under the conference table, sobbing silently into her folded knees as the room emptied.

Pidge found her that way. He didn't say anything, or try to make her stop. He just scooted himself over so that their shoulders touched, so that she could talk to him if she wanted to, or not. She liked that about him.

After awhile, a pair of black boots appeared in front of them. As the owner slowly squatted down to their level, she saw twin swords crossed across his back like wings. Saran, wearing his eternal desert black, stared at the two of them with sad, hooded eyes. He took in her red eyes, disheveled hair, and dirty desert finery with a heavy sigh and a disappointed shake of his head.

"I will be easy on you today, Charlotte McClain, because you are new to our ways and have much to learn. Do you think that is a toy you wear around your wrist? Or a pretty piece of jewelry? Or perhaps you think my foster-daughter rescued you and cared for you with her own hands these past few weeks because she had nothing better to do?" The grizzled warrior scowled, and Charlotte just barely managed to stop herself from diving to hide behind Pidge, who had gone still as stone beside her. "No, she did these things because you are her sister now, and I will not allow you to shame her, or your brother, in their absence by hiding under tables and crying like a child. Come." He held out his hand to her, impatiently but not roughly, and it was as calloused as she imagined it would be. "You too," he barked at Pidge, who scrambled to comply.

"You will both have dinner with my family. You have dishonored them by withholding your presence from them for so long."

"But..." she protested, internal alarms beginning to shriek full blast.

"Do not fear. We will be easy on you today. We understand that you have much to learn. After dinner, we will see if you know how to use that dagger my foster daughter gave you of her own collection and placed around your waist with her own two hands."

"But..." she said again.

"Let me guess," Saran interrupted as he strode through the castle, the two of them trotting to keep up with his long strides. "You know nothing of its use. You thought it was a pretty present, meant, perhaps, to scare Lotor. Well. I will have strong words for Kiari when she returns. There is no excuse for such neglect of a sister's ability to defend herself."

"But, Saran," Charlotte tried again.

"And your name. Charlotte Anne Grayson McClain. Much too long and Outworlderish. I will not tease you as I do your brother, Fireheart, for you are made of different kinds of fire, the two of you." He paused outside the door to his personal quarters, thinking hard. Even outside the door, it was _loud_, Charlotte could tell. Loud always meant bad, growing up. It meant yelling and fighting and someone getting hurt. She could feel Pidge tensing up behind her.

But then they were through the door. A sea of children and teenagers of all ages chased each other around the room, laughing and playing, stealing food from a very long dinner table that just happened to smell wonderful, arguing with each other, pulling on the robes of two harried looking but very pretty young women, playing a strange game with brightly colored stones... Charlotte couldn't keep up, couldn't process the chaos around her. And then Saran had her firmly by the neck, propelling her forward, Pidge in his other hand.

"I will call you _chara_. It is close enough to your own name. In our tongue, it means two things: beloved, and something harder to translate, something like heart-fire, the ember that glows at the center of a warming fire, rather than a raging blaze. A pretty name. It suits you. And in the morning," he said amicably, snagging two rolls dusted with spicy-sweet scented seeds, "you will begin your training in earnest." He tossed one roll to her, and one to Pidge. Since she couldn't seem to close her gaping mouth, she stuffed the roll into it instead and almost moaned with pleasure. It was filled with a mild sweet cheese, warm and almost liquid at its center. "The Lord Regent says you are decent with the sword," he said to Pidge, who almost choked on his roll. "The two of you will meet me here before dawn." Pidge, wide-eyed, could only nod at him. Saran rounded on Charlotte. "And then, _chara,_ I will cease to be easy on you. No more crying under tables. No more standing still and taking it while others hurt you, no matter how much they say they love you, or how closely related."

Charlotte winced.

"No more depending on others for your own defense. No more treating deadly weapons and sacred relics as mere decoration. You will learn how to defend yourself. You will learn to protect those you love, with your bare hands, if need be. Your body will become strong and stealthy. You will no longer hide behind your fear, or let it turn you to stone, but rather face it and channel it as the fighting force it is meant to be. You _will_ be a credit to this Clan when your brother and sister return to you. And please, enjoy your dinner. It was made with you in mind." And with that, he stalked away.

"Pidge, I'm scared," Charlotte whispered when she could speak again.

"I think that's the point," he whispered back.

"Do you think, if I gave back the medallion, he would go away?"

"No, I think that would fall under the 'dishonoring your Clan' category."

"That's what I was afraid of," she muttered darkly. She whirled on him, grabbing him by the front of the shirt, her eyes wild. "You can't leave me. You have to help me. I can't do this alone. He might... he might _eat_ me."

Pidge swallowed hard. "You might be right," he conceded. "If I do, you owe me _big_. Like, lifetime slavery big."

Instead of answering, Charlotte threw her arms around him while Pidge turned several shades of crimson.

VVVVV

The once-unfamiliar stars of Arus whirled overhead as he held her tightly in his arms under the imposing shadow of Red Lion. Her long soft hair nestled perfectly against his ear; she was almost as tall as he was, and she fit perfectly in the hollow of his neck. He loved that about her. He loved it that she was his equal on so many levels, tough and fierce but surprisingly soft and vulnerable in areas only he had ever seen, like she was a locked, imposing temple, and only he could come in and play. He could only have found someone like her on a war-ravaged place like Arus. In so many ways, she had saved him from himself. She took his dark and hurting places as a matter of course, and helped him see that barriers could be turned into shields that protected and served rather than alienated and isolated. He hugged her tighter.

Their arms were tight around each other, their hearts a perfectly matched rhythm.

"We're not taking the Lions," she said, but he sensed the question behind it.

"No, love, not this time," he acknowledged as Red's eyes flashed behind him. He thought he heard a faint roar of protest, but then again, maybe it was in his mind.

"Because we might not be coming back from this one." Her voice was barely a whisper against his neck. "Because Arus needs Voltron, and if we don't, they'll need to find three new pilots, and fast."

This time, Red's growl was unmistakable.

"Easy, big guy. That is absolutely _not_ Plan A, or even D or F, for that matter."

Red's eyes flashed dangerously. Kiari pulled back in his arms. "I wonder who? In the ridiculously remote possibility..."

"I had thought Nyle might give Blue a shot, and maybe my sister for Red, but Black? I have no idea. Black without Keith? I just can't see it."

Maybe it was his imagination, but Black Lion looked very smug and cat-like in the starlight.

"Then we will be successful," Kiari said simply. "There is no other way."

"Arus is as safe as we can make it, right now. It's in much better shape, actually, than when we got here. Nyle will be a good Regent. Christ, he even cut off his hair." Kiari giggled. "There's a clear succession, a decent defense, something of a stable government, a rising infrastructure, resettlement, and the beginnings of diplomatic relations with potential allies." He pulled away from her and knelt to check the backpack he carried. "I just wish I could be sure...you know, that this is the right thing to do." Satisfied, he slung it back in place and proceeded to check the weapons on his belt and, last of all, a very special white knife tucked into his boot.

Kiari watched him with bleak humor. "You know we're going like they did. _Magically_. That stuff might not make it with us."

Lance shuddered. "Don't remind me. And a guy can try."

She had her arms around him again. "Arus is stable, _for now_. But what of its future? _That's_ what we're going to secure, Fireheart. And not just Arus, either. The very balance..."

"Of the universe, yeah, I know," he said glumly. "Why am I caught up in the grand, epic battle between good and evil, anyway? Why do the two of them keep dragging me back in? I just wanted to get out of prison, and find something to drive really fast..."

Suddenly, all five Lions reared up to their full heights around them, roaring at the absolute fullest extent of their abilities. Lance and Kiari jumped and clutched each other.

"They've never done that before," Lance whispered, awed.

"I think they want us to go, Fireheart, _now,_" Kiari choked out.

"Remind me of the plan, because I just forgot everything I've ever known down to my third grade locker combination."

"We use your bond to Keith and Allura, this literal tie you cannot see without mind magic, to find them. I will do the rest. I can sense my aunt, and I will use my sense of her to keep us away from her until we have found them..."

As Lance focused on her words, trying to absorb and make sense of _magic_, something he couldn't understand under the best of circumstances, he realized she was already pulling him with her, the world changing around them, fading to a wash of jumping red sparks as she held him tight in her arms. Then Arus was gone, the ground was gone, the stars were erased, and there was nothing but Kiari and an ever-increasing storm of red fire that raged but did not burn. She was trying to talk to him, to keep him anchored. "My eyes, Lance, look at _me_, at my eyes," but the deep pools of green that had entranced him so many times could not stop the irrational panic from rising, could not stop him from fighting her, from pulling against the storm of magic that swallowed him and threatened to erase all sense of self.

"Stay with me, Lance, we're almost there," she pleaded, but he suddenly saw a bright silver cord shining through the red tempest like a lifeline. It whispered _safety_ and _home_ to him, and then it was joined by a second silver cord that whispered _need_ and _help_, and they wrapped around him with a force that rivaled the time he'd driven Red into the electric heart of a Robeast by himself.

"I'm losing you," he told the panicked green eyes in the middle of the fierce red tempest. "I don't know what's happening. They're _pulling _me. I'll find you again, on Doom, I swear it..."

And then he was ripped backwards, out of the maelstrom of her magic and her embrace, just in time to hear her heartbroken cry.

"Lance!" she screamed, and then she was gone.

He landed, hard, in something squishy. When he could breathe again, he realized he was lying on soft ground covered by rolling fog. He rolled into a crouch, panting hard, but there was nothing around him save an endless expanse of twilight and seriously scary trees. He grabbed his blaster, only to have it melt and slither down his hand like a clock in a Dali painting. He tried two more blasters and the same thing happened. Fighting down serious, five-alarm panic, he unzipped his backpack and rummaged for one of the explosives he'd packed, only to have two dozen sparkling, translucent butterflies escape and fly off into the creepy trees. When he peered into the backpack, it was empty. He threw it into the trees after the butterflies before it turned into a snake and bit him.

"Lancelot Arthur McClain, you are seriously not in Kansas anymore," he said, still in a crouch, but then he sat heavily down and started to laugh because he actually _was_ from Kansas, or had been, briefly, once upon a time.

_Once upon a time_, he thought morosely. _I am well and truly screwed_.

"Magic _sucks!_" he yelled at the twisted trees. "And fuck you too," he muttered at one of the lingering butterflies, for good measure.

It was then that he remembered his last weapon, a blindingly white knife given to him by a ghost several lifetimes ago. It slipped into his hands like a familiar friend, and he knew instinctively that this weapon wouldn't turn on him here, wouldn't grow legs and start to talk or anything like that. He breathed a small sigh of relief.

It was then, holding King Alfor's knife, that he saw the silver cords again. Two lines leading out from his heart, stretching off into the distance, snaking around the bare twisted trees. _So this is what they've been seeing, Kiari and Nyle and who knows who else. This is part of what Kiari meant, that I'm the third..._ He felt a tugging, gentle at first, then more insistent, and he knew he was supposed to follow.

But he also had the other half of his heart to find, somewhere, on Doom. As he trudged after the silver cords, he tried to tell himself that she was all right, that her magic would protect her, that she had been to Doom and back once already, and they would find each other again.

He just had to find Keith and Allura first, to do whatever it was the three of them were supposed to do together in this lifetime.

_Magic sucks_, Lance thought bitterly, _but destiny sucks worse_.


	20. Chapter 20: The In Between Worlds

Author's note: This was a hard one to write, so I can't exactly call it fun, but I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for all the encouragement, Xia, Mertz, charigurl, Stephen, bright Harmony, Philip, and all the rest of you. You keep me going. I'd sing you a song, but I'm so off-key I'd drive you away, screaming. Warnings? Some violence. Nothing too major. Oh, and cursing. Lots of creative cursing.

Playlist: True Blood soundtrack, especially "Cold Ground" and "Bones."

And, as always, I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Twenty:

The In-Between Worlds

Kiari's landing wasn't spongy and soft.

She hit, face first, on hard, unforgiving black stone at a speed that would have made her strictest riding master whistle. A sharp pain drove all the air from her lungs and left her writhing uselessly on the floor in the grips of nausea and disorientation. In an effort to cushion her fall, she had managed to drive her own elbow into her solar plexus. But she _had_ managed to get an arm between her head and the floor. _Otherwise, I might be trying to hold my own skull together right now_...

Her instincts screamed at her to get up, to _jump_ up, into a fighter's crouch, that she was in extreme danger, but the best she could manage was a pathetic attempt to scramble to her knees, which kept folding under her anyway. _Lance_, she remembered while she struggled, weakly, to get to her feet, or at least a crouch. _I lost him, in the void; I have to get up, to find him. Gods above and below, what a disaster. Saran would spank me with the flat of his sword, were he here to see..._

Rough, claw-like fingers raked her scalp, caressing her hair briefly before twisting it cruelly and forcing her head upward into harsh light. Kiari blinked in an effort to clear her vision, to see who held her, but the lights were too bright, her captors too far away. High pitched, eerily girlish laughter floated down to her. A new kind of nausea shook her as she recognized the laughter, and realized where she was.

Witch Haggar. So the hard black flagstones must be her laboratory. On Doom.

_Oh, fuck,_ she thought, reaching for one of Lance's most cherished curses.

"You stupid, stupid girl. I knew you would show up here sooner or later. The McClain girl's disappearance had the marks of your distinctive Fire Tribe stench all over it. Did you think I would not recognize it, or that your aunt would not point it out to me? And then we knew it was only a matter of time before you came again, to find her, to find the child..."

"Where is she?" Kiari managed to gasp out, straightening her spine despite her kneeling position and reeling head. _She will not see me grovel. I am my Father's daughter... I carry the pride of my Clan..._ she began to recite, grounding herself mentally as she reached for her element, preparing herself to blast Witch Haggar with all the burning hatred of her soul.

"Where you will never find her," the witch hissed, slapping a tight collar around her neck. "Your aunt, and the child she carries, belongs to me and my Dark Goddess now." The feeling of building power was gone instantly. She tried again to access the elemental magic that was as much a part of her as her hair color and realized, with mounting terror, that it was totally and utterly gone.

"What have you done?" Kiari whispered, her shaking fingers touching the collar, trying to find a clasp, a weak spot of any kind.

"I'm making sure my carefully nurtured plan comes to fruition, stupid girl," Haggar cackled. "I will not allow you, or your too-trusting aunt, to ruin a thousand years of carefully nurtured dark prophesy. Besides, there is a certain _very_ angry prince who is anxious to meet the pretty young lady single-handedly responsible for stealing his concubine away from him. _Especially_ since that young lady is so special to a certain Red Lion pilot."

Internal alarms screaming, Kiari found herself pinned on either side by two huge, hulking Drule soldiers. She measured them and decided to save her strength. _The wise warrior knows strategy is the best weapon of all,_ she remembered Saran counseling her many times, long ago, before the soldiers from Earth had come to reestablish contact with the Castle of Lions and the long war with Zarkon was all she knew of the world. Then she was being dragged backwards, out of the laboratory, down corridors that branched and forked. She concentrated, hard, on remembering the direction she was going, so that if she managed to get away she could find her way back.

_No, not if,_ she corrected herself. _When._

She turned the rest of her thoughts to good things, pleasant things that would be a refuge in the coming ordeal. Lance's smile. She and Nyle playing with their respective elements, turning balls of water and fire into steam in mid-air. Chocolate cake. The entire Voltron Force emerging from their Lions after morning practice, sweaty and laughing and heading to breakfast, Lance swinging an arm around her while he made jokes she only sometimes understood. Teasing him and watching, with a straight face, while he tried to figure out if she was joking or threatening to kill him or someone else.

Soon, much too soon, she was in a huge mirrored room bare of everything except one long, empty table and a massive sound system against one wall. Torches flickered at regular intervals. The soldiers shoved her face down against the table. It was cool against her still-aching head.

Heavy bands of metal clicked into place over her wrists, fixing her into place, torso stretched across the table.

_Shackles. In all the nine bloody hells... _She closed her eyes. _I should be more frightened than this. I should be terrified. But I'm not._ She wondered what was wrong with her before she identified the feeling. Rage. An icy rage such as she had not felt since she banished her aunt from the Clans. She snorted. Rage was unfamiliar to her. Saran's training had been thorough. Lotor would find that the women of Arus's Fire Tribes were made of stronger stuff than battered seventeen year-olds from Earth.

She felt him before she heard him. He smelled of wine and leather, and his hand, on the small of her back, pressed hard against her. "There are very few things that could make me happier than this," he whispered into her ear. Large hands with long nails brushed her hair back from her face. "Lovely. Just lovely. _Look at me_." She narrowed her eyes defiantly, staring at his slitted yellow ones. He would not get the satisfaction of one single word from her lips. His eyes suddenly flamed an intense orange and he slammed her face into the table, hard. "I have a lot to thank you for, you know," he continued.

She said nothing as his long, manicured fingers ripped her shirt from her back. His nails made light, slow circles there.

"You saved me from a great weakness, you see. If you had not taken... _ridden_... me of that particularly troublesome piece of property, I might have come to care for her." Her eyes flew open and she almost cried out as he brought a whip down on her back. "Instead, you reminded me of the power of _rage_."

_I am my Father's daughter... I carry the pride of my Clan..._ she recited as he laid into her back. Her lips were bloody as she bit them, trying not to cry out.

"Punishment for theft on Doom is whipping, but I think your crimes fall closer to treason," he said, adding extra force to his blows. Then she could no longer help herself; she did cry out, and the shame of it hurt her almost more than the pain. Her back was on fire, and there was no relief. "And the punishment for treason," Lotor was breathing harder now, winded from his efforts, but still he did not stop. Kiari felt her world going gray. "The punishment for treason is death. But I owe your precious Voltron Force too much to make it so easy for any of you." Satisfied, he threw the whip down. "When you have been cleaned up and brought to my quarters, I will be more creative. When I am finally satisfied, I will cut you into the tiniest possible recognizable pieces and ship you back to Arus, to your Red Lion pilot, to Princess Allura and that escaped slave she's so fond of, so that he and the entire planet will know the extent of the wrath that is about to descend upon them."

To her everlasting shame, it was all she could do not to beg. She pressed herself against the cool surface of the table and tried her best to think of nothing as his cruel laughter floated back to her from further and further away.

Hours, or maybe minutes, later, Kiari would never know for sure, green eyes just like her own, framed in red hair only slightly darker than hers, swam into focus just in front of her. Cool, gentle hands stroked her cheek.

"I will kill him for this," her Aunt Morgana said.

"You will have to stand in a very long line," Kiari said sleepily, sure she was dreaming.

"You _are not dreaming_, and you are not yet dead. You _are_ shackled to a table, collared so that the elements are dead to you, your back is shredded like meat thrown to a pack of starving wolves, and the Prince of Doom waits for you in his bed to do even worse to you. I know I betrayed you, and the Clans cast me out. I know you hate me for what I have done. I can even guess why you are here." Kiari managed to raise her head enough to see her aunt's hands cradled protectively around her stomach. "But I ask you this, niece. Do you wish to die here, in Lotor's bed?"

Kiari dropped her head back to the table with a plop. She was so tired. "What do you want from me, witch who was once my aunt? Did you come to witness my shame? My failure?"

The cool hands were back, petting her cheek, her hair. "No, sister's child. I came to ask for your help."

Kiari laughed, long and bitter. "I am half dead with pain and shame already, but I _will_ die before I help you and the evil you have embraced."

"No, Kiari," her aunt whispered softly. "I do not ask you to help _me_. I ask you to help _him_." She caressed her belly again. The two women shared identical, deep green glances. "Things are not what they appear, and time grows short. Haggar thinks I do not know, but she would take this child, and that I cannot allow. No matter what."

VVVVV

At first, the silver cords seemed like a miracle to him, an anchor in a bizarre world like a cross between Wonderland and the _Nightmare on Elm Street_ movies. He couldn't follow them fast enough, practically running as he scanned the pockets of light and dark cast by the skeletal trees looming over him in the twilight. He tried to keep his thoughts positive, wondering if, perhaps, even the shape of his thoughts had some kind of power here.

"Go to your happy place, Lance," he told himself sternly, but it was amazing how often Kiari appeared in that happy place. He tried not to worry about what might be happening to her.

Eventually, he gave up the power of positive thinking in favor of speed and the power of pissed off.

Then the cords tightened their hold on him yet again, and he was no longer following them but struggling to keep his feet under him as they yanked him forward. He knew somehow, deep inside, underneath all his skepticism, that it meant Keith and Allura were in trouble. He braced himself as he topped a squishy hill, knife at the ready, preparing himself to fight off giant caterpillars or man-eating mushrooms or, worst of all possible worlds, life-size toy clowns. He shuddered.

But the scene below him was strangely, deceptively peaceful. His two friends stood completely frozen in the middle of a beautiful meadow full of wildflowers and sunshine, caught in a web of shimmering light that held them perfectly, even deathly, still. Allura was heartbreakingly beautiful in a silver dress that glowed in the dull twilight; her long blond hair hung in messy ringlets around her slightly bowed face. Her fingers reached out for Keith, frozen beside her, the two of them just inches from touching. His commander's eyes were closed, like Allura's, but his face was strained; he'd been trying to catch Allura and had failed. The two of them were wrapped so tightly by the web of light Lance couldn't tell if they were breathing.

_Any place as pretty and peaceful as this, where everything else is all wrong and weird, has got to be deadly,_ Lance reasoned. Even he could feel the magnetic pull of the meadow, the urge to just sit down and dream... _ Hey guys,_ he tried, speaking into their minds. _It's me. I'm here,_ but instead of a response he was hit with a confusing barrage of images moving so fast he couldn't process them. It was then he understood.

_She's trapped you in some kind of memory, or experience, but it's not real, it's a trap,_ he thought at them furiously, examining the web with a new urgency. Allura was losing color. _They can't breathe_, he thought frantically, sliding his knife across the web, poking and prodding, looking for a weak spot, praying he wasn't going to hurt them. King Alfor's words echoed back to him from long ago:

_There is nothing in Heaven, Hell, or Earth that this knife cannot cut, not even magic..._

He stabbed hard into the space between them, slicing through the air where their fingers almost, but not quite, touched.

Allura, gagging and coughing, pitched forward to her knees. _"Lance_," she gasped, pushing back to a kneeling position. "Thank the goddess. It was..._terrible_." Her beautiful face crumpled and she sobbed hysterically, making no move to get up. She looked at Keith like a wounded animal, wrapping her arms around herself, rocking back and forth. "I know what happened. I saw part of it. I saw you with _her_, with the witch, but it wasn't _her_, was it? It was the other one, the one before me, your fiancé. _Beverly_." Allura spat the name as if it was a curse. Keith had not moved one single inch.

_Oh, shit_, Lance thought. _This is bad. Very very bad._

"I saw it, Keith. I saw you with her. And I know it wasn't really her, it was Morgana, a trick and a drug and a spell, but she's laid traps for us and we walked right into one and guess what? _I just watched the whole thing!"_ With a final shriek, Allura rolled over and threw up.

_Oh, shit,_ Lance thought again, sparing one quick glance for his commander before hurrying to her side. He murmured to her softly. "It's ok, Allura, it was just a trick. She's trying to trap us, to drive us apart," all the while thinking, _Keith, you're not helping. You should be doing this, not me..._

Only to look up into the cold, dark eyes of his commander as he loomed over the both of them.

"Can't wait to get your hands on her, can you, Lance?" Keith said softly, dangerously.

"What _the hell_ are you talking about? I lost the woman I love getting here. She's out there alone, somewhere in this madness, so will you two _please get over it already_ so we can whip some witch ass and go rescue her, or whatever, _please_?"

"What were the two of you doing, when I was undergoing Morgana's little 'trial'?" Keith continued in that same deadly voice.

"I believe Allura was _dying_, in the desert, and I was trying to keep that from happening," Lance said quietly, standing up slowly in front of the still sobbing princess. "She was sweat-soaked from fever, and the temperature was dropping, and we couldn't raise you or the castle or _anyone_." He squared his body, moving very slowly and carefully. Something strange was happening to Keith's eyes. "You know the best way to avoid hypothermia. Skin on skin. You took the same survival class at the Academy. And it worked, too. She was alive to see the morning."

"Ah, the morning. When she woke up and... and was very _grateful_, indeed," Keith snarled.

Lance felt his own fiery anger, never far from his heart, began to roll and boil inside him. "We talked about this. About how innocent she was. About how she hadn't decided yet. _Nothing happened_." Lance snarled, and the sound echoed across the landscape like it had been torn from the throat of Red Lion itself. "Would you rather she made up her mind with somebody like Lotor?"

Black fire crackled up and down Keith's arms. He still wouldn't look at Allura.

"You _talked_ about me?" she squealed, enraged. "Like I'm some kind of _possession_? To be _divided up?_"

"I was there, too. The witch's trap sent me there, just like it sent Allura, and I stood there _and watched_." Keith's eyes were flat black pools of bottomless rage.

"Oh, really? Well, it didn't take any special dark magic to feel the two of you when you went off to find the water tribes together. Vital mission? To heal Allura? Remember that one, Keith? Seems like there was a whole lot more than healing going on. I felt the whole damn thing, and it was like having my guts and my heart ripped out at the same time. _It sucked_, and it almost screwed things up with somebody I care about, and I hold _you_ personally responsible for that, you selfish son of a bitch."

"I thought I could trust you. I thought we were friends, even _brothers_, but I guess I was wrong. You showed up on Arus a common criminal, and I guess that's all you are," Keith said coldly, ice to Lance's fire.

"Yeah, well," Lance said, no longer caring that they were falling right into Morgana's trap to alienate and separate them. He stepped right into his commander's face. "At least I didn't get anybody _pregnant_."

Keith's fist slammed into his jaw.

He dimly heard Allura yelling, dimly heard her stalking off, but his own fist connected with Keith's face and he was busy watching out for his former best friend's wicked left hook while trying to land a few more punches of his own. Before long they both had swollen eyes and bleeding lips and were rolling on the ground, pummeling each other, hurling insults that eventually devolved into a series of winded grunts as fists and knees and elbows slammed into stomachs, faces, ribs, and anything else they could hit.

By the time they resorted to hair pulling and head slamming, Lance realized they were too evenly matched when it came to hand to hand, and they could beat on each other all day long, but he was too mad to care or stop. Keith had him in a headlock, face down on the spongy ground. "Got to stop," his commander, ever the level headed one, grunted out. "Allura... alone," Keith tried to reason.

"Fuck..." Lance pushed upward and backward, finding upper body strength from somewhere, driving a foot into Keith's knee. "You," he finished, rolling over and staggering to his feet, ready to start swinging again.

Keith stood to face him, shaky but more composed. He held his up his arms, palms outward. "Remember that you forced me to do this," he said tiredly. Black fire coursed up his arms.

"Son of a _bitch_," Lance hissed. "_Magic_. You're one of _them_. Traitorous bastard!" He closed his eyes as black fire enveloped, but did not burn him. His skin felt like it was covered with millions of tiny dancing sparks...

...exactly like tiny ants, and he was the picnic.

It was a very, very familiar feeling. It carried with it the faint scent of cinnamon. He kept his eyes tightly closed.

"Oh shit," he whispered, wondering if he was the only person in the universe who cursed when he prayed. "Please don't let that be what I think it is... please, please, please. I'll give up drinking. And the vintage Playboys, and I'll work on the swearing but I'd be lying if I promised to quit that cold..."

"Uh, Lance?" Keith said.

"Shut the hell up, Keith," he growled. "_Do not_ say it. Maybe it will go away."

"I don't think it will, buddy. That's one of the things I can do. Call out people's elements." Lance opened his eyes to see his body swathed in a solid sheet of red flames. Lines of black fire, courtesy of Keith, chased each other around his new elemental shield like kids playing tag.

"Welcome to the dark side," Keith tried to joke with him. At Lance's look of pure misery, he added cheerfully, "On the other hand, sometimes it can heal things. I don't think your nose is broken anymore."

Lance glared at him. "I can't believe you did this to me. You, _Commander_, are officially an asshat." Keith struggled to keep a straight face. Lance sighed. "Just so long as you're an equal opportunity asshat. You'd better do this to Hunk and Pidge too."

"I think I kind of have to. It's a Voltron thing. Now can we please stop being stupid assholes who ought to know better and go find Allura and apologize?"

"Oh, of course, Commander Asshat, anything you say," Lance grumbled, but he left the clearing just as fast as Keith did, anxious to find the princess and exercise some damage control.

VVVVV

"I cannot trust you," Kiari said after a long moment, her head suddenly flooding with layers upon layers of strategies. "Take off this collar, and I will."

"That I cannot do, until we are away from here, to the sanctuary I've prepared," her aunt said. "And then I will release you. I will need you to guard him in the fortress I have prepared if I am to have the strength to fight her. It will take everything we have to keep Haggar from taking him."

"_Guard him?_ How? Where?" Kiari asked sharply.

"The In-Between Worlds," Morgana whispered. "I have been hiding his spirit there. It's the only way I have to keep Haggar from taking him."

Kiari paled. Morgana must be truly desperate to even consider hiding the child's spirit away from her body. The child's spirit would be a spectral version of his future self, sentient but also vulnerable to kidnapping, attack, or anything else that could happen to him in the In-Between Worlds.

But that also meant he could be taken from Morgana.

Any one of them, either she or Allura, could gather his spirit into her and carry him in her own womb in the real world. Allura could actually carry Keith's child. Or she could carry the last of her blood kin herself, if it worked out better that way.

Cold fire burned in her heart as she looked her aunt, the witch Morgana, straight in the eye and agreed to her conditions. Her mind was elsewhere, though.

She was thinking of ways to kill her own aunt when her world went black.

VVVVV

Allura ran blindly onward, away from the arguing and the fighting and the violence behind her.

_Stupid, stupid_, she cursed inwardly, unsure if she meant Keith and Lance, or herself, or all three.

Blinded by rage, she realized the terrain had changed only when her feet began to scream at her to slow down. She saw that the mist had thinned; instead of spongy, foggy ground cover, she had been running over rough, rocky terrain for some time now. The satin slippers she'd snagged from the dressing room back in Castle Doom were hanging onto her feet by mere scraps. Her feet were scraped and torn and bleeding in places. The pain shocked her out of her rage, and she realized several things at once.

She had been running a long time for her feet to be so badly injured. Time had passed, she reasoned, and distance. She had no idea how much.

And she was completely, utterly alone.

She collapsed to the ground. _Ok, Allura, be honest. That whole thing was your fault, too. _She banged her fists against the rocky ground and got sharp pains as her reward. _Not just what I saw, or what Keith saw, or even what Lance felt between us that night. Those conversations were a long time coming, I guess. It's that we all walked right into it, her trap, and let it separate us, and here I sit, and they may have _killed_ each other by now. Stupid boys. _

"It was pathetically easy to get you alone, Princess. Almost as easy as it was to trick the man who supposedly loves you. Your _Keith_." The voice she hated most in the world floated towards her from somewhere in the spectral trees. She felt the blind rage that brought her here, brought all of them here, building inside her. _ I have to think this time, not just react_, she told herself, gritting her teeth against the murderous rage and struggling for control of the elemental fire that threatened to explode at any moment. "Look at you. You can't even stand. It's almost too easy. He must not care about you at all."

"Morgana." Allura did her best to make her voice sound frightened. _I can't see her; I need to lure her out._ "What are you doing here?" She sprang forward into a crawl, as if her feet were too badly injured to support her well. They were, but she could heal herself with barely a flick of the power growing inside her. _But she doesn't need to know that._ Her lips curled into a grimace. _Yet_. "I... I'm not alone. Keith and Lance... they're here with me... they'll be here any minute..."

"But they're not here now," the witch-woman said softly. She ghosted forward from the trees, shrouded in a cloak that matched the flat gray twilight sky almost exactly. Allura stifled a gasp; she had forgotten how much Morgana looked like Kiari. The witch could have been an older twin to her friend. But the witch-woman's hands produced real flames rather than the shimmering sparks of her friend's elemental magic. "So it will be that much easier to kill you."

"Not so easy," Allura growled, letting loose all the rage and pain she'd stuffed into every corner of her soul. Encased in a solid shield of glowing blue fire, she sprang to her feet, barely noticing that they were whole again. Even her vision was blue. _The child, I can't hurt him_, she thought, frantically trying to come up with a way to hurt her mortal enemy without causing irreparable damage. _Stasis... I can immobilize her, and take her mind,_ she thought, lashing out with whips of blue fire, her soul singing with revenge and justice.

Only to step back with a gasp when Morgana threw back her cloak and met her attack with one of her own. Red and blue flames struck and twisted around each other as Allura gaped, first astonished, then alarmed and angry.

Morgana was no longer pregnant.

"What have you done, witch?" she hissed, throwing more power into her strike. "_Where is Keith's child? What did you do?"_

Morgana only laughed. She met Allura's strike easily, and then began launching balls of fire, followed by bolts of flame resembling arrows. Allura countered with balls of water that shrouded the little clearing in steam; she formed a flock of sea birds that absorbed every bolt. "Answer me!" she screamed as fire and water flew back and forth, taking on more powerful and complex shapes.

A wave of dark magic, untied to any element, slammed against her side like a giant hand, knocking her to the ground. Across the steam-shrouded clearing, Allura saw Morgana stumble and fall as well. Allura jumped to her feet, adjusting her shield to block this new threat, and watched as Morgana did the same.

A beautiful, dark haired, dark eyed woman with pale skin stood equidistant from the two of them. Dark magic surrounded her in throbbing, pulsing waves. _Who in all the nine hells is _she_? _Allura wondered, preparing herself for a three-sided fight.

"Yes, Morgana," the newcomer drawled lazily. "Do tell. Where _is_ the boy?" The voice was younger, lower-pitched, than she had ever heard before, but Allura recognized it instantly, and felt her panic and confusion build.

Witch Haggar. A young, _attractive_, Witch Haggar.

_Keith. Lance. Now would be a good time to show up, if you're coming. This is turning into one strange party._

"His spirit is sealed safely in my fortress, Haggar, where you will never find him," Morgana hissed. "How stupid do you think I am? I will _never_ let you have him." She swiveled her head to Allura. "Either of you."

"What is she talking about?" Allura hissed at Haggar, palms raised outward at both of them. _I can't believe I'm asking Haggar questions._ "And why are you so..."

"Attractive?" Haggar smirked. "This is what I looked like when I first came to Doom. In the In-Between Worlds, spirit takes precedence over reality. I can assume my true spiritual form, and the witchling there," Morgana hissed. Allura guessed she'd just been delivered some kind of witch insult. "She can separate her child's spirit from her body, and hide him away. Very dangerous. Just anyone can go and get him, you know," Haggar continued, her manner deceptively calm, but Allura had been watching intently, and she was prepared. Haggar's dark lightening hit her solid blue shields, but to her shock, they bent instead of absorbing the impact.

"Not if you're dead," Morgana hissed back at Haggar, blasting her with a solid wall of red flames.

And then it was all Allura could do to keep up her shields and fight back at the same time. Assaulted on two sides now, she kept reaching for the rage inside of her, letting it out inch by inch now, hoarding as if it were precious gold as she used it to feed her element in a fight she feared was too much for her.

Then she felt him, her dark angel, strong and steady. He was close. _Allura, I'm sorry I was such a jerk._

_Me too,_ added a contrite mental voice tinged with fire and chagrin.

_Stuff it,_ she snarled, and felt their shock. She threw up a wall of curved ice like a mirror, redirecting a snaking line of Haggar's dark lightening towards Morgana instead. _I am in really deep trouble and I need your..._

"If this was a movie, we'd have what you call a Mexican stand-off," Lance observed dryly. He stood behind Morgana, his white knife pressed into the small of her back.

"I think she's doing just fine," Keith said quietly, directly behind Haggar, black webs of spirit wrapping around her. He held the Sword of Altaire against the witch's side.

"Help," she finished out loud, not daring to relax even one inch. "Keith? Lance?"

"Hmm?"

"Uh-huh?"

"This may seem out of context, but do you trust me?"

"You know I do," Keith answered without hesitation.

"Yesss," Lance answered more slowly, as if taking a difficult calculus test.

"Then _run these bitches through with my father's blades,"_ she snarled.

Keith drove the Sword of Altaire into Haggar's side without a moment's hesitation. She screamed once, but instead of falling over, she vanished, leaving Keith standing in a cloud of dark air.

Lance, as she knew he would, hesitated. "But, the _kid_," he said urgently, doubtfully.

"Just _do it,_" Allura screamed, but by then Morgana had called her shield all around her again and had begun to twist away from him. To her amazement, Lance walked right through it and grabbed for her; he managed to snag her by an arm. He drove the blade deeply into her shoulder; Morgana screamed in real pain and pushed away from him, backing warily away from them, her image thinning as she went.

"I have my niece imprisoned with my son," she told him, clutching her blood-soaked shoulder. "You should thank me. I picked up the scraps Lotor left of her and brought her to my tower, where she guards my son even now. If she does a good enough job, perhaps I shall even let her live. Unlike you three." She thinned into nothingness.

Lance went white. "Imprisoned? _Lotor_? What the hell?" He rushed the spot where she had been, dropping to his knees, staying very, very still.

Keith folded her into his arms. She dropped her shields as soon as he touched her. She tucked her head into the hollow of his neck, where it fit so perfectly, and listened to his wildly beating heart. His arms were like bands of steel around her, and his good hands, his strong, calloused, warrior's hands made soothing circles across her back as she shook in the shelter of his arms.

"We were fighting about something," she whispered into the safety of his chest. "But I don't even remember what, now."

"It doesn't matter," he whispered back. "I have you back now. And when you're ready, you can tell us what you know." She started shaking; she couldn't help herself. "Hey," he said, tipping her head back, forcing her to meet his dark eyes. "I'm proud of you. You just fought the most evil, powerful witches of our time." Then he kissed her, forcefully at first, as if to reassure himself she was really there, and really alive. Then his kisses turned gentle, comforting, and their warmth was enough to chase the shaking away.

"It's like she said," Allura said at last, leaning heavily on Keith, exhausted. "These are the In-Between Worlds, where spirit rules over matter. That's why only magical weapons work here, and why you were able to get rid of Haggar."

"But I didn't kill her?"

"Not in reality, no. Just banished her spirit, for a time. But Morgana's still here, and she has a fortress here, where she's holding Kiari and her... your... _our_ son's spirit. His spirit exists here independent of her body, so it doesn't matter if she lives or dies, not anymore. That's the good news."

"And the bad news?"

"We have no idea where it is. The In-Between Worlds are literally endless, but they are accessible to humans only near the physical spaces we normally inhabit, and they tend to take on the characteristics of those places."

"So since we entered from Doom, we're in a particularly bad neighborhood, so to speak," Lance said, joining the conversation at last. He still looked pale, but a feverish new urgency burned deep in his eyes.

"Exactly." Allura wobbled over and collapsed beside him, wincing as she landed on a rock. She pulled Keith down next to her and scooted into his lap. "This place you call the Lakes, where you say there is a sanctuary... I'm hoping it's pretty and peaceful and nothing like Doom?" Lance nodded. "Then we could get there from here, if you can remember it clearly enough."

"Like the inside of Red Lion," he said.

"So, if we can find this fortress, we can get Kiari and the boy, and get them to a better, um, neighborhood?" Keith asked.

Allura smiled tiredly. "Mmm-hmm. Once we find this mysterious fortress, fight our way past considerable security, find a way in, defeat Morgana, for real, this time, gather the child's spirit, along with Kiari, and somehow manage to muster the energy and the knowledge to find Lance's sanctuary and travel there, then yes, everything should be fine."

"Is that all?" Lance asked in a monotone.

Keith frowned, listening intently. "Gather the child's spirit? Go back to that part. That's the part I don't understand."

"He's a completely independent being here, Keith. Pure spirit. He will appear just like a normal boy. He'll be able to talk, and think for himself. Depending on how long Morgana has hidden him here, or what she's told him about us, he may already utterly hate us. He may not _want_ to go with us."

"But... he's not _born_ yet," Keith countered. His heart was doing strange things in his chest.

"Not in the real world. And that's kind of good news. Haggar said hiding him here was an act of desperation, that it made him vulnerable, that anyone could take him. She was right. Anyone, well, anyone female and human, that is, can absorb his spirit here anytime, and give birth to him in the real world." Keith froze. Allura laced her fingers through his. "I could do it. I wouldn't be his biological mother, but I could carry him." Tears splashed onto their linked hands. Her own.

"But what if he hates us?" Keith whispered. "What if they've already turned his heart?"

"It's a risk," she admitted. "But with birth, spirit welds to body, and he will remember very little of this time, or remember it only as dreams."

"And if Kiari's spending any time with him, she's doing everything she can to influence him," Lance added. "He's the last blood relative she has. She'll fight for his soul with everything she has."

They were quiet for a moment longer, leaning on each other, catching their breath and strategizing. "It's the best plan we've come up with yet," Keith admitted finally. "Any ideas on how to find this fortress?"

Dark shapes streaked overhead, moving so fast their screeches followed behind them on the wind. More and more dark shapes followed. Keith scanned the horizon and saw a dark cloud, shrouded in fog and moving towards them fast. Nothing stopped its progress; he saw several of the skeletal trees snap and break as the dark shapes approached. Allura breathed deeply.

"Can you smell the dark magic?" she demanded.

"I thought we got rid of Haggar," Lance said flatly.

"Just her presence. Apparently she still has influence." Keith squinted; the shapes were becoming clearer, and more nightmarish, as they approached. "Apparently, she has some kind of army here."

"So we're between her army and Morgana's fortress."

"At least we know it's general direction. We just have to beat them there," Allura said, jumping up, murder creeping back into her eyes.

"And fight off the army at our backs," Keith reminded them grimly, drawing his sword. But Allura was already ahead of them, following the flying scaled serpent-like creatures that hadn't noticed them yet. He and Lance eyed each other as if to say, _there she goes again_, and then they were sprinting after her.

VVVVV

Kiari woke up, groggy and with a pounding head, on a dark stone floor. For a second, she thought she was back in Haggar's laboratory. She staggered back against the wall, almost shrieking when her torn back came in contact with the stone. She grabbed a windowsill for support. Vertigo washed over her; she was in a tower so high she couldn't see the bottom; an endless twilight sky stretched all around her. _So much for scaling the walls_...

She realized they were in some kind of nursery. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with toys the likes of which she had never seen. Sparkling balls on stands sat next to ornately carved and stuffed dolls and figurines of all species; books of all kinds took up an entire wall. Some of them even glowed a little. Blocks made entirely of carved jewels sat on top of one another. Games, some familiar and some not, took up another shelf. Kiari glanced at one of the balls and drew back in shock. It looked as if it contained an entire galaxy, with little planets circling suns, while comets and meteors shot throughout. She looked more carefully at the books. "Alice Rescues the Cheshire Cat from the Mouse Pirates, by Lewis Carroll," she read aloud. "A Return to Narnia: Queen Lucy the Eternal, by C.S. Lewis," she said, frowning.

"They haven't been written yet," her aunt said absently, fussing over a stone depression in the center of the room. She noticed a bandage on her aunt's arm that hadn't been there before. _How long have I been unconscious_? she wondered.

"Very well, then," Kiari said in a careful, _let's-humor-the-pregnant-witch-woman_ tone.

"Do you want to see him?" Morgana asked softly.

"See who?" Kiari answered warily.

"Your cousin, of course." Nestled in the stone depression, amongst a sea of dark blue velvet blankets trimmed with silver stars, lay a sleeping black-haired child. "Only in the In-Between Worlds, in this fortress, do I feel safe enough to lay his spirit down. He's so close to being born in the real world anyway, he's already a joy to talk to and play with. I love to bring him here; it's not just a matter of safety. He'll wake up soon, and you can see for yourself."

For once in her life, Kiari could think of absolutely nothing to say.

Then the nest of blankets stirred, and a black-haired child that could have been anywhere from six to ten years old sat up and blinked sleepily at her. It took all the discipline of Saran's harsh tutelage not to cry out and step back in alarm.

"But... but he's not even _born_," Kiari stammered. Intellectually, she knew this, but she couldn't help thinking, with an edge of hysteria, _none of this makes any sense. I want to wake up now._

"His spirit is fully formed," her aunt replied, no longer even looking at her. "In the In-Between Worlds, that makes him as real as you or I."

"Mother, who have you brought with you?" the boy asked, perfectly coherent. "She looks like you."

"She is your cousin, dear one, my sister's child, and I brought her to play with you. I have to leave you here, dearest, in this place where you are safe, for just a little while, and she will keep you company." To Kiari, she smiled sweetly and touched the collar at her throat. _I'm going to take this off now. Your sole purpose here is to protect the child. If you use your powers for anything other than to protect him from harm, the wards of this fortress will strike you dead. Do you understand?_ Wide-eyed, Kiari nodded as the collar fell away into her aunt's hand. She set it on a shelf with a twisted smile. Then she was gone.

"I like you better than that old witch," the boy said. "You smell of warm, sweet magic. What do you like to play?" he asked Kiari, turning the full force of his presence on her. She felt his power, a wild, ancient magic throbbing off him in waves.

His hair, his face, even the way he sat, reminded her of Keith, but his eyes frightened her.

His eyes were the pure, blinding, shining silver of the brightest night stars.

"Anything you like," she answered firmly, proud that her voice did not waver.

"How about a game of galaxies?" he asked eagerly, rising to grab two of the balls from their stands. "We'll throw them back and forth, and see which one crashes and dies first." He looked at her, his face perfectly innocent, and she knew, suddenly, what her real purpose here was.

_Divine Goddess, who created the deserts to burn away all weakness in my people, thank you for this chance to bring light to darkness, good to evil, and compassion to ignorance._

"I do not like that game," she told him firmly, taking the balls back from him and placing them carefully back on their stands. "Anyone can break something; it takes a very superior person to guard and cherish and keep things _alive_." The boy watched her with his starlight eyes.

"That is a game I do not know. Guard and cherish? The witch, and mother, too, talks only of power."

"Then I will tell you stories of these things, and many others besides," Kiari said, sitting cross-legged on the floor as Saran had done for her many, many times. "You do not know me, but you are my blood kin, and I already love you very, very much. So I will tell you of our homeland, and your mother's, too, although she has been gone from it for many months now. Come, sit."

The boy looked at her for a long moment before he shyly moved into her lap. He gingerly touched her bruised cheek. "Who did that?" he asked.

"An evil prince."

"And he did that to your back, as well? He must be very wicked."

"He did, and he is."

"I would heal your back, if I could, but neither mother nor the witch will teach me healing magic. They say it is beneath me, that I am to rule universes instead. But I will kill this prince, if you would like, when I am born and big and strong."

Kiari fought down an insane and completely inappropriate urge to giggle. "You would have to get in a very long line," she said for the second time that day. "But yes, you are my blood kin, so by the laws of our Clan, you are allowed to kill him for me."

He nodded, unperturbed. "What should I call you?" he asked.

"My name is Kiari, and I am the leader of our people in the deserts of Arus. But the people who love me call me Kia, as you must." She smiled, blinded by his starlight. "And what may I call you, cousin?"

"Mother calls me Aldred," he whispered, as if the name did not please him.

Kiari suppressed a shiver. It was an ill-omened name. "I shall call you Chance," she said, pulling him to her. "She is a goddess who greatly favors someone dear to me. Perhaps she will look favorably on us, too. And so, Chance Aldred Kogane of Earth and the Red Dawn Clan of Arus, I will tell you stories of the deserts where we come from, where the sun rises like hot gold above the horizon, and of the Castle of Lions, where the princess and her Lion Knights protect our world..."

His voice had gone very, very soft. "Is my... my father one of them?"

"He is the greatest of them all."

"Mother doesn't want me to talk of him. She won't answer my questions. She says he loves the princess of Arus, and he will only hate the sight of me."

Kiari rocked the child. "That is not true. That is so far from the truth." She rocked him and held him harder. "You are not yet even born, and you are loved and you are wanted, and I think... I think the goddess brought me here to tell you so, and soon, your father himself will come for you, and the princess and my own beloved Lion Knight, and you will have a home with us, _all_ of us, on Arus, if you will but come," she promised.

"But mother... and the witch..."

"Ssshh," she said. "It is not yet time to worry. Many people want you, enough to fight for you, but for now you are safe here, with me to watch over you, and I promised you stories, did I not?" At his blinding, starlight nod, she took a deep breath. "Once, there was a princess with a mouse for a pet..."

"Is this a true story?" he interrupted.

"This I solemnly swear: I will tell you only the truth. Now, hush, or we will never get to the part where I pull the princess's hair..."


	21. Chapter 21: Final Assault

Authors note: And the saga continues... not much to say as I race on to the next and potentially final chapter, except the usual thanks to all, especially harmony who made me realize I was "MIA" when I didn't really want to be. Or have to be. Warnings for violence. Enjoy!

Playlist: Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, "Seven Mile Island"

All ususal disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Twenty-One:

Final Assault

Keith Akira Kogane, Commander of the Voltron Force and several-times over savior of the planet Arus, stood in the middle of a barren field in a strange parallel dimension and wondered, fleetingly, if he was about to die.

Just like everything else in his life recently, things had just gone from bad to worse. _No, things have just gone from impossible to apocalyptic_, he amended, eyeing the seemingly endless, cloud-capped tower looming in the distance. _That's the fortress_. The part of his mind that wasn't already planning his death marked its presence on the map in his head. He added it to the three other points of interest on his mental map: his two friends, who he just might be able to save, and the two armies of Haggar's and Morgana's monsters rushing at each other, intent on destroying each other and anything else in their path, massed on either side of them.

The three of them were standing in the exact middle of the advancing hordes.

He had exactly three weapons at his disposal: magic, which he only barely understood and certainly didn't trust, his sword (also magical), and the bond he shared with his two friends. _Teamwork_, he thought with absent amusement. _That's what we called it at the Academy. What an inadequate, asinine word for people you love and live and maybe die with._ Strands of blond hair settled on his shoulder as Allura latched herself onto his arm. _Family. That's a better word._

"Well," Allura said miserably. "At least we know where the fortress is now."

He and Lance made eye contact. A world of meaning passed between them in that one brief glance. They'd had the same strategy classes at the Academy, and they knew an impossible situation when they saw one. They whirled so that they stood with their backs to each other, Allura between them, leaving barely enough room for her to breathe. Lance faced Haggar's hordes coming at them from behind; Keith faced Morgana's monsters and the fortress in the distance.

"Hey, guys, I can't see anything," Allura complained, shifting impatiently behind them. Neither man answered her; they took another step backwards. "_Hey!_ Are you trying to smother me?"

"We're your commanding officers, we're in a battle situation, and you're just going to have to trust us, Allura, and follow orders, no matter how strange or unpleasant," Keith said through clenched teeth.

"Very well," she said solemnly, almost instantly. A moment later, she added softly, "That bad, huh?"

Once again, neither man answered her. He stepped back again, pressing her so tightly against his back he could feel the rise and fall of her chest as he raised his sword. He felt her trembling; he heard Lance unsheathe his long knife. All these things he registered coldly, clinically; he was in that cold, white place he went to when he had a battle to fight.

"I see only two alternatives," he said grimly. Morgana's army was close enough to see individual creatures advancing. Many of them walked on two feet, give or take a few, but were covered with scales or feathers or dripped strange substances. Others slithered or crawled. A very few merely floated inches above the ground, but where they passed, the ground turned black and smoked.

"It's like an army of mini nightmare Robeasts from Hell," Lance hissed. "Keith?"

"Same here," he agreed grimly. "And there's way too many. We can't engage. So. Plan A greatly increases the chances for your and Allura's survival. Plan B gives us a chance, but a very small one. Very small. So we'll be following Plan A."

"Like hell," Lance snapped back. Allura stopped breathing entirely.

"You have to take her _now_, Lance," Keith continued calmly, as if Lance had never spoken. "Straight down the middle, away from their lines. Stay low. If you have to engage any of them, it will be the outer forces. It will be possible, at least, to fight your way free."

"Keith, _no,_" Allura said softly. She didn't sound like a princess, or even a pilot, but rather like a woman watching her own death rather than her commander's.

"And what will you be doing during all of this, Commander Genius?" Lance snarled. He hadn't moved.

"Fighting them, dammit! Making as big a distraction and nuisance of myself as I can! _Didn't you hear me? I said now!"_

"Actually, no, I didn't hear you. I seem to be temporarily and selectively deaf. Perhaps Plan B might penetrate this sudden disability of mine," Lance said tersely.

"Keith, _please_," Allura begged. "What else?"

"I gave you _a direct order_," Keith snarled.

"Court martial me later. _What's the plan_?"

"Foxhole."

Lance clamped his lips together and made strange noises behind them, like he was cursing and biting his lips at the same time. "Yeah, ok," he said at last. "Nice and primitive. They don't look too bright. It might work. Aim towards the fortress? Hopefully we'll be behind their lines. Eventually. I'm taking it for granted you have some way to dig a cozy hole in a matter of minutes."

"I did say Plan B was shaky," Keith said grimly. He fought down the anger and alarm, and called his icy focus back. "We've got one shot at making this work," he said, grabbing their hands. "Don't ask questions. Just _do._ Call your elements, but don't do anything with them, just _hold_ them. Think of your Lions. Think of the whole team. Think of being in Voltron, fighting." He closed his eyes, feeling the shadowy black fire creep across his body. Allura's left hand felt cool and damp in his; Lance's right hand warmed to burning in his palm. "Air," he murmured. "Earth. We need wind to dig into earth, to shelter the three of us in this place where there is no cover, and nothing seems to work except our elements and the bonds we have with each other. Earth and Air. Hunk and Pidge. I need your elements, the elements that make us a part of Arus, a part of Voltron..."

VVVVV

"You are improving considerably," Nyle said approvingly, circling Pidge in the courtyard of the Castle of Lions. Despite his instructor's praise, Pidge dared not lower his sword or his guard one iota. He new Nyle was looking for just such an opening. Both were winded and sweating; soon Nyle would let him go and he could grab a shower and something cold to drink before running a second systems check on the new backup generators for Med Center...

His entire body went rigid and icy cold. The world seemed bathed in an eerie crystalline light. Living things, like his teacher's concerned face, and the plants in the courtyard corner, had a rainbow halo around them. His skin felt slick but not wet, like he was suddenly covered with a layer of stretchy silk instead of skin. His eyes bulged as he realized that layers made entirely of sparkling white lights, against all common sense and every physical law he knew, surrounded him.

He heard Keith's voice in his head. "Air, we need air," and a great wind swept all around him, taking the strange new lights and sensations with it.

With it came total muscle failure.

"Christ, yes, Keith, take it all," he managed to say gratefully before pitching backwards. He tried to release his sword as he fell. It clattered to the feet of a very worried looking Nyle. "Dr. Gorma," he managed to gasp out before rolling his head sideways in time to retch.

Nyle knelt over him, looking concerned and very sad. "No, Pidge. I do not think Dr. Gorma can help you. He can do nothing about elemental Air abilities. And neither, my friend, can I."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Pidge choked out, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him.

VVVVV

Hunk stood in the sun with Kate, showing her the white flowers that only bloomed on the creeping vines that hugged the utility shed. They were in Allura's battered garden that had been dug and planted and destroyed and revived again and again, more times than he could count, but he wasn't giving up on it. He'd grown up on a farm. He knew land never gave up on you, unless you quit or did something generally idiotic. He didn't know where his friends and teammates were right now, but he hoped they were safe, and working in Allura's garden was one way he felt close to them. Plus, it calmed the baby.

"Although I think I need more calming than you do, these days, Katie-bird," he whispered into her ear. Koran stood on one side of him, Nanny on the other. The woman was like a bulldog with a meaty bone. She just wouldn't give up. Koran trailed along and acted as referee when he could, but Hunk felt more and more like a knot someone was trying to untie by yanking on it, instead of doing it the easy way of sitting down patiently and figuring out all the snarls.

"I have to agree with Hunk and Nyle on this one, Nanny. We simply cannot have a formal Naming ceremony at the moment. Perhaps, when Allura gets back, if she consents..." Koran said soothingly.

"But we dishonor the child! What Prince will want her without a proper Naming, with all the ceremony that entails? How else will she get her tiara?" Nanny wailed.

_Ignore her, ignore her_, Hunk tried to tell himself, but suddenly, he wasn't feeling so good. His head felt strangely hot and hollow, and the rest of him felt like small shocks were rocking his body. It was not an unpleasant kind of feeling; more like he'd been working out really hard and his muscles were warm and twitching. _I must be angrier with Nanny than I thought,_ he reasoned, surprised. "She's _a baby_," he heard himself growl, low and rough. He didn't sound like himself, either. "Who cares if some Prince wants her or not? You disgust me!"

To his surprise, he practically roared his last sentence at Nanny. She stared at him in shock, mouth open, then turned on her heel and stalked away. He was too occupied to yell at her, though.

The ground at his feet trembled and tickled. He heard things in the earth that he knew were there, but had never had sounds for: earthworms making their slow progress through the soil, flowers drinking water slowly through the pores on their leaves, roots crunching downward through soil. His skin felt dry and papery, like old newspaper left out in the sun, and incredibly sensitive. Most disturbing of all, the rest of his world was turning a light, sparkling green.

_I must be sick,_ he reasoned. "Koran," he said, his voice impossibly deep and booming. "I'm not feeling so well. Take the baby. Take her _now."_

Then he heard Keith's voice in his head: "Earth, we need earth."

His skin felt like a thousand needles marched across it. A solid wall of glowing green divided him from the rest of the world. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the glow and the enhanced sounds and sensations seemed to drop right off him, as if he was shedding a heavy weight, right down into the earth at his feet.

His strength went with it. He collapsed on his back in Allura's garden.

"Uh-oh," Kate said, from Koran's arms.

Hunk wondered if 'uh-oh' counted as a word. Koran was suddenly in his face, Kate practically glued to his side. "I would offer to fetch Dr. Gorma, but it would do you no good," the older man said. His face was white. "I have not seen a trick like that since Zarkon killed the last member of House Ka-Tai."

"Ka-Tai," Kate said approvingly. She pulled on his mustache. The diplomat shook his head.

"Earth, Hunk. Elemental Earth magic. House Ka-Tai were the last of the Earth Mages."

"I figured it was something like that," he said with a sigh. "Arus is as full of legends and ghosts and magic and weirdness as Nanny is of rules. I figured it was only a matter of time before some of this place's weirdness hit me, too, no matter how hard I tried to hide out in the hangar." Koran merely raised a bushy eyebrow. "We'll probably have to go find some new lost tribe now, I bet." Hunk frowned up at the sky. "Oh, and Keith and Lance and Allura are in trouble, I think."

VVVVV

_We're definitely in trouble_, Lance thought, clutching Allura as Keith, covered almost entirely with streaks of black lightening, yelled things in a strange language and blasted a hole in the ground.

It wasn't big enough. Not nearly.

Nightmares that walked and crawled and slithered and even floated were almost upon them. Lance tensed, clutching the only weapon he had, preparing to push the princess into the only available space.

"What will we do? Once we're inside this, uh, foxhole? We will still be vulnerable to attack from above. We will need to cover ourselves," Allura yelled into his ear.

"Um. I'm afraid it might only be big enough for one of us, Princess." Lance made his blue eyes as icy hard as he could. "You. In which case, Keith and I will cover you."

To his shock, Allura smiled. _Ok, she's finally snapped._ She shook out of his grasp and knelt by Keith, speaking to him in the same language he was yelling. She nodded, as if he had just verified something, and then held out her hand to Lance. "He is speaking ancient Arusian. I do not think he is even aware. He has summoned both air and earth: air to dig, and earth to soften." As she spoke, dirt blasted out of the ground with the force of a small bomb. "Poor Hunk and Pidge. I imagine they feel quite bewildered right now."

"Bewildered my ass," he said, shoving the princess face first into the hole. She fell, face first, with a muffled grunt. He pulled himself in after her and watched to make sure Keith, slightly dazed, was doing the same. "Ready to start speaking English now?" Lance asked, back to the dirt wall, eyes on the open sky.

"What?" Keith said, puzzled.

"I'll take that as a yes," Lance said with relief. Allura stood between the two of them. "You asked how we planned to cover ourselves, Princess. With dead bodies." The first clashes of battle echoed near. "Hopefully, not our own."

They didn't have long to wait. A few hesitant creatures peered down at them before giving hisses and growls and screeches of challenge, sizing up the three humans huddled together with no claws or scales or talons, only two weapons between the three of them. By the time the monsters decided to charge them, Keith had already taken off two serpentine heads; Lance kicked a scaled four-armed thing backwards.

"Keith? Can't you just blast them?" Allura asked, eyes wide. Their little hole was already getting crowded with the stink and press of death.

"I'm... depleted, like a...what did you call it? A magical hangover?" Panting hard, he swiped at a flying thing swooping down on them. "Besides, we need to save something for the fortress."

"They're not bodies, they're shields," Allura chanted under her breath as their little space filled. She cried out as green ichor splashed her forearm and burned her. "Careful! The floating ones are poisonous!" Someone shoved her into a crouching position and positioned his weight over her. Lance. He was arguing vehemently with Keith.

"I have the damned sword!" Keith argued back. She couldn't hear the rest of it. She felt like she was smothering. She remembered hiding in her mother's closet, suffocated by dresses, praying that Zarkon's mercenaries wouldn't find her, not daring to move in the days before the Force came to her. She felt the same panic, except, instead of dresses, she was being suffocated by monstrous death. She thrashed and bucked against whoever shielded her, her mind in a faraway, dark place, thinking, _they found me, they have come to take me, my planet is lost..._

"Allura, it's ok, we're behind their lines now; we're safe, we did it," Lance whispered into her ear urgently, but all she could do was shake. "Keith! She can't breathe! We've got to clear these bodies _now!_"

And then her dark angel had her in his arms, lifting her away from the press and smell of death, laying her gently on the ground. "Breathe, sweetheart, breathe with me," he whispered, his hand on her heart. "Deep and slow, Allura, come on. We're not there yet. We still have to go _there_." His eyes flicked to the tower, so tall she couldn't see the top of it. "Lance scouted ahead. There are a few of them left between the tower, and us, but the focus will stay on the battle behind us. But the tower is sealed, magically, somehow. We still have to find a way in. We need you."

She almost cried out when Lance shook her so hard it hurt. "Come on, Allura. We've got to go. Now. She's in there. Kiari and the boy. You heard Morgana. Lotor had her first, and anything could have happened to her." Lance's eyes were twin points of desperation in the twilight.

His words did nothing to slow her breathing as they sank in. Lotor. Had. Kiari. First. "Let's go, then," she managed to gasp out, falling in behind Keith as they moved off towards the tower.

VVVVV

Kiari trailed her aunt as Morgana moved quickly and purposefully around the room, warding each of the tower's windows against the sudden assault of Haggar's monstrous army. They were being attacked, that much she knew; Morgana had already forced her to use her own powers to fortify the tower's defenses. Since it was technically in defense of the child, she was powerless to disobey.

The only problem was that Kiari knew Haggar wasn't the only force assaulting the tower. Her friends were, as well. She had no intention of helping them lose.

In the center of the round stone tower, the child with the brilliant starlight eyes rested peacefully underneath the twin wards she and her aunt generated. Wrapped in his dark blue blankets, he breathed deeply and slowly, his black hair barely visible. Layers of multi-hued shields danced over him. Sweat ran down the back of her neck; she had put as much of her energy as she dared into shielding him, and she knew her aunt had done the same. She would have drained herself completely for him, but she still had a battle to fight. Hiding her eyes and her hands from Morgana, she knew she would be doing it alone.

The collar Haggar slapped on her in her laboratory on Doom snapped into place around her aunt's neck with a click. It reminded her of the claws scratching against the barriers she had thrown up against the flying and crawling things trying to get in the windows.

"Are you _crazy_?" Morgana hissed, scrabbling at her throat like a wild woman. "We're under assault. I need access to the elements; we both do. Even if you hate me, even if you wish the child and me dead, have a care for your own life _and let me go_ before the wards of this tower strike you dead. You can only act in the child's defense, Kiari, or..."

"You said I could only use my _powers_ to defend the child," she reminded her aunt grimly. "You forget, as you always do, that my elemental powers are the least of what I can do. You always did rely too strongly on magic, Morgana. That is why you are so easily corrupted. You never said I couldn't perform a simple physical act like snapping something around your neck." She jumped back from the window as a scaled, monstrous cross between a snake and a vulture attempted to plunge its claws through the window. It hit the shields and fell, shrieking. She hoped it didn't hit anyone important on the ground.

"This leaves you as the boy's only defense," Morgana said, still clawing at her neck, her voice cold with fury and fear. "He has many enemies. You don't have the power to defend him against them all," she spat contemptuously.

"My cousin has only two enemies: you, and Haggar. He has more allies than I can number. I can and will defend him against you both," she said quietly. "If I am struck dead for it, so be it. Three of those allies are here for us; I can feel them. You will show me the way to let them in, to defend the boy when you cannot." She buried the emotions surging within her as she placed her calloused fighter's hands around her own aunt's neck. She would pay the emotional price for her actions later. "Now. _Show me."_ As she hissed the final words, her hands squeezed her aunt's neck. Morgana's eyes went wide with disbelief before she turned white and started choking. Only when her eyes started to glaze over did Kiari loosen her hold, and Morgana started to talk.

VVVVV

"I just can't find it," Allura almost howled with frustration. "But there has to be a way in. There just _has_ to be!" She stood facing the tower, her palms glowing blue as she ran her hands over it, stone by stone, searching for a hidden entrance, a way past the wards. Her hands shook as she tried to ignore the shrieks and cries of the strange monsters that stayed behind to guard the tower.

"Open sesame!" Lance grunted, slicing sideways at a brawny but mostly humanoid monster. _Except for the scales. And the single eye._ He hacked and slashed, wishing he had more than a single blade, but King Alfor's white knife was effective. He kicked the creature's body off to the side to join a growing pile of its motionless comrades. Forced to block with his unshielded left arm, his right arm felt like lead and he'd stopped counting the cuts, stabs, and slashes to his left forearm.

"We tried that one already," Keith reminded him grimly. Although they both fought with their backs to Allura, protecting her as she tried to find a way into the tower, he had been forced into double duty, protecting them from both ground and aerial assault as strange creatures found their way past his shields. He slashed at the things that walked, crawled, and slithered, and then somehow found time to parry upward as strange bird-like things swooped down on them, screeching. He was covered in a dark, sticky substance, and he no longer knew where his blood ended and the creature's blood began.

"I do not know this 'open sesame,' but, Father, if you are listening," Allura murmured, her eyes closed tightly, her entire body pressed against the stone as if she was trying to capture it in a lover's embrace. "People we love are trapped inside, and people I love will die outside, if we do not find..."

The entire building seemed to pulse with one long electric charge. Allura shrieked and almost fell; pressed against the building with her entire body, she had caught the brunt of the charge. Bodies of crawling and flying creatures fell to the ground around them; the pulse affected them more drastically. _Maybe that's a good sign_, she thought. She gritted her teeth and dug her nails, by now cracked and bleeding, even harder into the stone. "You _will_ open for me, you will," she half sobbed, half commanded.

Behind her, Lance bit back a cry of pain. Keith swore.

The stone thinned and shimmered in front of her. She cried out in relief. "Do you see that? Thank the..."

The stone disappeared entirely, forming an arched doorway that she promptly fell through and landed flat on her face. _One day I'll find that funny_, she had time to think as Keith shoved Lance in behind him. The Red Lion pilot tripped over her and went sprawling.

"Oh," he said weakly. In the dim light, Allura could see he was cradling his left arm. "Stairs. I actually fell _up_ stairs. Damn."

Then Keith was shoving them upward, his sword a blur of light at their backs as he held off the strange denizens of the In-Between Worlds. "Up," he panted. "Find them."

"I can help you," Allura protested, trying to shove her way past Lance to his side. She gathered her element around her like a cloak, preparing to lash out.

"Save it," Keith snapped, his face white, his sword moving in a blur. "_She's_ up there, and we need you. You know what you have to do, Allura. _Go," _he hissed urgently.

"_Hurry_," she called after him as she ran up the winding tower steps, Lance stumbling along behind her, afraid and elated at what she might find.

VVVVV

"Thank you," Kiari said simply, releasing the pressure on her aunt's neck. She moved the woman to the floor below the nursery as soon as Morgana revealed how to unlock the stairs. She did not want the boy to witness any violence done to his mother. She knew he slept, shielded and bespelled, but there was too much at stake to risk him waking and watching his mother hurt. Such a thing could scar a child for life. She knew. She still carried the scars of watching her own parent's death. And even though Morgana was evil, she was still the only parent the boy had yet known.

_But not for long_, she thought with relief as she felt the tower's defenses pulse and fall. The cool presence of water magic and familiar, beloved fire entered, faint and far away, along with something else she didn't recognize. There was a strangely charged element in the air of the tower now, shadowy but not dark. It made the back of her neck prickly.

Morgana hissed. "It cannot be. Not him. Not here. He can't have him!" She began to struggle wildly in Kiari's arms.

Kiari tightened her hold around the woman's neck again. "You will begin making sense. Now," she ordered tersely.

"The Sword-Bearer. Has found his element." Morgana choked as Kiari let in a little air. "_Spirit_." She felt the blood drain from her face. Spirit? Keith could command _spirit?_ The implications were staggering... he could _force_ elemental powers onto every member of the Voltron Force... the robot defender would be a fighting force like nothing the universe had ever seen... he was the most powerful man on Arus...

_Later. I will have to make sense of this later. I have one thing, and one thing only, in front of me now._

Morgana ranted on. "He's coming for his son, and I can't let that happen. He'll twist the boy's purpose. He'll hold him down, take his power... if the sword-bearer can command elemental spirit, he'll _kill_ the boy rather than let him grow more powerful...I'll kill him myself, rather than let his father have him."

"No," Kiari said sadly. "Not everyone thinks as you do." She felt her eyes fill with tears as she looked at the woman who could have been a mother to her, but had chosen such a different path. "I promise you, my cousin will be raised surrounded by love and family and goodness and honor."

Kiari knew what she had to do. She had known it as soon as her aunt appeared to her in Lotor's mirrored room. She wrestled her to the floor.

Her face and voice were stone as she told her aunt, "Your crimes cannot be numbered. They are too vile to be spoken aloud. You have already been outcast, but it was not enough. Now, as Clan Leader, it is my duty... to...your life... is..."

But then she couldn't see anymore, or speak coherently, she was crying so hard. Her entire body shook with the force of her sobs. _"Why?"_ she screamed from some deeply scarred, tortured depth she had only just discovered inside herself. _"YOU WERE ALL I HAD LEFT!"_

Morgana's green eyes, exactly like her own, closed for just a moment. "Sister's child," she said softly. "I know the laws of our people, and I know this: You may kill me, but a part of you will die as well."

Kiari's lungs weren't working right. She struggled to breathe, taking in huge gulps of air like a fish flopping about on land. Sobbing, blind, she let fire come to her, warming her palms, growing hotter and hotter until she could almost see her glowing hands through her tears. There were many ways to kill a witch, really kill her, body _and_ soul, most of them as gruesome as live burnings or drowning. But she would be as quick and painless as she could, no matter what it cost her emotionally. She would use her own bare hands.

_Mother, father, forgive me._

_Keith and Allura, forgive me._

_Cousin...._

She plunged her fire-bright hands into the witch Morgana's chest and pulled out her heart. It blackened to ash as she held it. The heat from her hands cauterized the wounds; it was the best she could do for her, under the circumstances. Her aunt's last breath was soft and long. She used the hem of her shredded tunic to close her green eyes. Her hands were covered with blood, and she didn't want to mar Morgana's face.

_Chance Aldred Kogane of Earth and the Red Dawn Clan of Arus, forgive me, if you can._

Then she slumped over on her side and sobbed as she never had, not even since her parents died. _Kinslayer_, she thought, and cried harder. She cried because an entire way of life was passing; she could never go back to her beloved deserts and be a simple Clan Leader again. The New Arus needed her, and all her people, and always would. She cried because Chance Aldred Kogane would be born to a new mother, and that mother by all rights should be Allura, but that meant she could never tell him he belonged to her, too. She had just killed the very last of her family, and she felt sick and hollow and alone.

Despite her aunt's crimes, despite her own unspeakable, unthinkable act, for all those reasons, she would observe the mourning rites of her people. Her cousin deserved it; her dead parents deserved it, even if she no longer did. Her head felt funny and kind of hollow; she kept remembering how it felt to hold her aunt's still-beating heart while it burned. She sobbed harder than she thought possible and reached for a knife that wasn't there.

She had no weapon of her own, but her aunt did. Of course. Even as an outcast, her aunt kept some of the old ways. Kiari almost smiled as she slipped the dagger from her belt. _Kinslayer_, she thought again, rising to her knees. She began to sing the ritual song as she slashed at her long red hair, the first mark of mourning. It came off in uneven hunks, long strands of it falling all around her like ropes made of fire. The mourning song somehow turned into a lullaby, one that her mother and her aunt sang to her together when she was very small and the world seemed simple and safe.

_Kinslayer_, she thought again when she hacked off all the hair she could reach with her shaking hands. Long strands of it clung to her fingers, glued there with her aunt's heart-blood.

She had moved on to the Seven Slashes of Grief, evenly spaced cuts across the tops of her forearms that proclaimed the deep mourning of a family member, when Lance found her. He was on his hands and knees moving very, very slowly towards her, his eyes wider and more horrified than she had ever seen them. She realized what she must look like; her clothes were torn and falling from her shredded back, her hands and arms bloody, her red hair, uncut since birth, hacked off. _Does he even recognize me_? she wondered. _Will I recognize myself?_ He spoke to her very slowly and evenly, as if to a child, but she could make no sense of his words.

She fought him when he tried to take the knife from her.

"Keith, _please_," he begged. She realized the princess and the commander were both in the room, staring at her in horror. Or was it concern? She hummed a little more of her lullaby and raised the knife over her other forearm.

"My life is forfeit to you, I know, for I have taken your vengeance away from you. But I could not suffer her to live for her crimes, nor could I let you kill your own child's mother. He's sleeping above, safe and shielded and protected. He knows nothing of this, thank the gods." She lowered the knife, sobbing again. "But please let me finish mourning before you kill me."

"_Keith,"_ Lance cried out. _"Allura! Somebody, please god, help her!"_

The knife clattered to the floor as she found herself immobilized by twin webs of blue and black.

"No one's going to kill you," Keith said sternly. Allura, kneeling beside Morgana, head bowed, said nothing. "Lance, can you take her?" To her amazement, Lance, who hated elemental magic more than anyone she knew, walked straight through the webs of blue and black and put his arms right around her waist. He carried his own faint red glow as he did so.

VVVVV

Keith wanted to grab Allura and tell her to hurry. He wanted to get her, get all of them, out of this tower and off to the Lakes, to safety, but when he saw her kneeling all his words dried up in his throat. Head bowed, her long blond hair a curtain obscuring her face from him, he knew she was in the grip of some strong emotion.

He was afraid it was pain. Pain caused by him. Pain he could never fix.

He knelt beside her. The tower shook. "Allura," he whispered into the curtain of her hair. "Sweetheart." Far, far below them, the ground rumbled. Something big was coming. They needed to get away, to safety, as soon as they could.

"I hate her," his beloved, from beyond the centuries, whispered. "And I always will."

"I know," he whispered back, feeling helpless in the face of her pain. "But she's dead now, and _our son_ needs us." He used the words deliberately, with force.

Her ocean blue eyes snapped to his face. "He does, doesn't he?"

Keith only smiled and tugged encouragingly on her hand. "He's just upstairs. Don't you want to see him?"

The tower really was shaking around them. She clenched her eyes closed, tight. "I'm scared," she admitted.

"And you think I'm not? I have no idea what the hell I'm doing." When the tower shook again, parts of the wall fell in. "Except getting us the hell out of here," he amended, yanking her up.

Miraculously, she actually listened to him. He never could tell, with this princess of his. "Do you think Kiari will be all right?"

He had no answer for that.

He would always wish, until the end of his days, that he had more time the day he first laid eyes on his son's spirit. More time to examine the room, with its strange toys, miniature universes, and fantastic books. More time to marvel over the carefully constructed shields layered over the boy's slumbering spirit, shields that spoke of love and care and attention, even if their maker had been his mortal enemy. More time to examine every fiber of the boy's dark blue, starry blankets that rose and fell in time to his breathing. More time to peer at his sleeping head, at the shape of his nose, his eyebrows, the exact shade of black to his hair. _My father_, he thought, in surprise. _He has a bit of my father around his eyes..._

Allura was crying beside him. He gathered her close, his heart full of emotions he had no words for, emotions like love and fear and pride and a fierce protectiveness, and a desire to try to explain how he saw it all fitting together, how the three of them, and one day, more, were like ribbons winding through and around each other, binding and tying and pulling and even tangling up at times but not strangling...

He would not let them strangle.

But the words wouldn't come. He was so bad with words.

_Your good luck I don't need them,_ Allura thought at him. _May I?_ He managed to give her one quick jerk of a nod before laying a shadowy web of his own over the shields. The shadow seemed to leach the others of their power, and Allura was reaching for him, for the sleeping dark haired miracle, with shaking hands...

And the tower gave one last, tremendous pulse of power before it began to crumble downward.

How they managed to get their hands around each other, he would never know, but suddenly, his arms were full of Allura and a sleeping child, and Lance was at his side, his own arms full. "Are you thinking of it? Of your sanctuary?" Keith shouted as the floor gave way, praying the answer was yes because he couldn't hear the reply over the falling rock.

There was a brief, disorienting moment of flat nothingness when there was only the color and the energy of their elements.

Then they were rolling in soft, long grass. The mouth of a cave loomed not far in front of them. It was night, and he recognized the stars of Earth, of the Northern Hemisphere, his home, just beyond the mouth of their sanctuary. Through the tall, arched mouth of the cave, he could see a mist-shrouded isthmus of land between two dark bodies of water. Keith could not see either shore.

"Well," Lance said softly. "Welcome to the Lakes." Kiari was still in his arms, completely still and pallid, like a wax doll. He clutched her protectively.

Allura held a blue-blanketed bundle close to her chest, her eyes shining. Keith scooted right next to her side, gathering her close. "We made it. We're safe," he whispered, unsure if he was speaking to the bundle, or to her.

"But what the hell do we do _now_?" Lance demanded, kneeling with his hands on Kiari's limp shoulders. His voice was mixture of hysteria, relief, frustration, and demand.

Allura looked from the weight in her arms to the man with his arms around them both to her friends across from them. "I don't know," she admitted in a loaded whisper.

"I don't think any parent ever really does," Keith said, his lips in her hair. "But we'll figure it out. We always do."

Allura looked at the closed eyes of the sleeping child in her lap, and wished she shared his father's certainty.


	22. Chapter 22: Deep Breaths

Author's note: I won't choke up this last chapter trying to thank everyone who made this latest epic possible. (It's long enough already!) I'm sure to miss someone, and I don't want to leave out any of the wonderful reviewers, readers, "hurry up" messengers, friends, fellow fanfic writers who shared ideas, laughter, frustration, and more, and everyone else who makes the Voltron universe such a fun place to play. Also, thanks to my wonderful family, who puts up with me when I occasionally slip off into a strange parallel dimension known as Arus. I hope you all enjoy the last chapter. Warnings: Suggestive adult situations, drunkenness, suggestive adult situations, some cursing, a dash of angst, and suggestive adult situations.

Playlist: Just a nod back to all the wonderful musicians who kept me going when I thought I couldn't type another thing.

And, as always, I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Deep Breaths

_Soft lips move firmly over mine, seeking, tasting, testing. They are lips that know mine very well. They have claimed them a thousand times and more. Her hands are work roughened, like mine, and we seek and find with the sureness of two who have known only each other our entire lives. She is soft in all the places I remember; she makes a little noise, like a cross between a sigh and a gasp, when I brush the curve of her hip, the swell of a breast._

_ How I have missed that noise, and the knowledge that I am the only one to ever draw it from her._

_ I keep my eyes tightly closed. I am so afraid if I open them, I might wake up, and she will leave. Instead, I breathe her. She does not smell like delicate flowers, my practical Cat, but whatever she is doing at the time: bread, soap, clean laundry, and lovemaking. I keep my eyes tightly closed and grasp her by the hips, rolling so that she is beneath me. I taste salt as we move together, and I realize she is crying._

_ "I don't want to lose you," I tell her, resting my head in the crook of her neck._

_ "You can open your eyes," she says, and her own are bright with tears as I knew they would be. "They let me come back. They want me to tell you something important. Something you have to do..."_

_ I stop her mouth angrily with my own. "If they want me to do one more damn thing, they can give us the space of this one dream. They can let me have you for that long." I claw off sheets, nightclothes, anything that creates a barrier between us, frantic and angry with need and loss. "If they cannot do that, they can go to hell."_

_ Afterwards, she lies on top of me, chin propped on one arm, looking deep into my eyes. "You've changed," she said at last. "You cut your hair."_

_ "You are exactly as beautiful as I remember you," I tell her, almost bitterly. "And I changed because I had to. Your last visit made that clear."_

_ "I am not beautiful. I never was. And I bring more change."_

_ "More visions?" There is no disguising my bitterness now._

_ Her eyes are wide. Merciless. "Nyle. They did it. They have him."_

_ My heart suddenly feels like it weighs more than the castle itself. "So? I knew they would." _

_ "Nyle." Her voice is sharper, more demanding. "It's killing them. It's driving them apart, and if it does..."_

_ "It will be as if the witch won, after all," I finish for her. I bury my head in her breasts._

_ "They almost died there, in the In-Between Worlds. One of them may have lost her mind in truth. They have in their care the soul of an immortal child, and they are trying to decide its future with their limited human understanding, and this at a time when they have been pushed and tested beyond human endurance."_

_ I push away from her. "I feel as if I am one thousand years old," I tell her bleakly. _

_ She smiles a little, gloriously naked in my bed. It's hard to stay angry at a naked woman in your bed, even if she is dead, and a ghost. "You _are_ one thousand years old, and you get a century older every day," she teases. I don't even bother to duck the pillow she throws at me. "They will bring the boy into the light too soon, before his right time, trying to do the right thing, and it will splinter and break them and this planet too. They are already so very close to their breaking points. It is time the universe gave them a break, and some time to heal; to rest and recover and just plain have fun."_

_ Fun. It sounds like a foreign word to me._

_ "Nyle. There are things your friends cannot, should not, carry with them. They are only human, after all. The guardians of this place- the monarchs past, and the spirits of the Lions- will guard the child until the time is right, when he can join with his destined host mother and be born into an Arus of safety and honor and love. Until then, your friends must forget him, or they will never be able to let him go."_

_ "Forget him?"_

_ "It's as much for his own protection as theirs. They'll think of him as part of a distant, abstract future, until the time is right. But everything else," Cat shakes her head. "Your friends will remember it all."_

_ "What do the powers that be want from me now?" I ask._

_ "Only that you remember _all_ of it, exactly how it happened. You will be the only one, the keeper of knowledge and memory, until the time is right."_

_ "Lucky me," I grumble, but she only smiles and pokes me._

_ "You're in awfully good shape, for a one thousand year old man," she teases. "They haven't taken me away yet, you know," she trails off suggestively, her fingers dancing up my arm and across my shoulder._

_ "Woman, you talk too much, even for a ghost." I growl and pounce on her, knowing I will never, ever have enough of her, because, as always, they eventually take her away._

VVVVV

Allura smiled and leaned into Keith. "So this is Earth. Or at least the In-Between version." She made a face. "I much prefer it to Doom."

"Like I said. Sanctuary," Lance said in a hushed voice, gesturing behind him to a cave that seemed to stretch on forever.

"Sanctuary. How can we be sure? He'll have to be guarded...we'll need a fortress of our own, I guess." Keith said, strange new protective instincts kicking as he held his future family in his arms. "It turned out better than I could ever have dreamed. But I don't know what to do next. Do we try to keep him here, safe, and wait for him, like in Nyle's vision? Or do we do it now? Are we ready? Is Arus ready? Are _you_ ready?" He brushed his lips against Allura's hair. "I didn't expect this... this _feeling_. I don't want to let him go. I don't know if I can. I don't know what to do."

"I don't think any parent ever does," Allura reminded him. "I feel the same way. We'll just have to go back to Arus and face the consequences." Allura smoothed the blankets back to reveal black hair. "I _want_ him. I _fought_ for him. He's coming back to Arus with us."

"We all _want_ him. We all _fought_ for him. _I pulled out his mother's beating heart with my own hands and burned it,_" Kiari snapped, rising at last, her eyes green fire. "We all want to bring him with us. But _think_, Allura. He must have a host mother, now. What would happen if you showed up on Arus, pregnant, unwed, right now?"

The princess was silent.

"I will tell you," Kiari continued. "You would be thrown out of office. The fledgling government, the progress we've worked so hard to build, would fall apart. They would take away Keith's command, and strip you of Blue Lion, and Voltron would be no more. Doom would raze Arus to dust again. And Chance would be raised as a bastard outcast, instead of the cherished equal son of Nyle's vision. There would be no balance. We will already have lost." She hunched in on herself again, and Allura ached to see tears streaming down her face.

"She's right, you know," a ghostly, familiar voice said from behind them. Allura looked up in shock.

"Father!" she cried out. Only Keith's arm around her and the weight in her arms kept her from flinging herself into his arms. But then she realized he was not alone, and her heart began to race. A host of ghostly figures ringed the room behind him. She recognized some of them better than others; her mother she would have known anywhere, but some, like her grandfather, she remembered only dimly, from pictures and a few very early memories. Her breath caught. It was an impressive gathering.

"We will return this child to Arus, daughter," the ghostly King Alfor told her. "You've done an excellent job. More than we could have hoped for. But Arus will need you again. The universe needs Voltron. There are things you've left undone, things you must do to make the world safe, if you are to bring this child, or any other, into a safe, stable world. And to do that, you must trust us to both guard him, and to take the most painful, dangerous memories of this experience from you so that you may function as a whole again."

"But how are we supposed to do that? Do you expect us to just forget about it?" Keith asked, incredulous and angry.

The specter of the old King smiled, a little sadly. "We will be his guardians until the time is right, when Arus is safe and united and my grandchildren are ready to take their places in the world.

"I don't understand," Lance said flatly, angrily. He left Kiari's side for the first time since they arrived on Earth. "We've been through so much. How can you expect us to just hand him over like this? We _fought_ for him, all of us did. We fought evil for him, but we also had to fight ourselves. Just look at her!" He drew his pale trembling burden into his arms again. "It almost killed her. I won't let it be for nothing."

"It won't be for nothing." A dark haired man slid next to Kiari, wrapping her in his arms. "You carry your father's love with you everywhere you go, in everything you do, my heart," he said into her hair.

_"Father,"_ Kiari whispered hoarsely, before wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his massive chest. Her entire body shook with soundless sobs. "I've missed you so, and I'm never sure if I'm doing the right thing," she managed to gasp out between sobs. "And I did the unthinkable..."

"Hush, daughter. You always make me proud." Lance watched as the truly massive father of the woman he loved rocked her as if she were a child, comforting her, feeling his own heart unfreeze as he realized she was going to be alright. Eventually.

Perhaps they all were.

"Trust us, if you trust no one else," a deep bass voice rumbled. The five massive lions of Voltron stood before them now, in spirit form. Each of their Lions pinned them to the ground, fixing them with fierce, yet loving, glares. Yellow and Green Lions sat among the ghostly guardians, tails flicking and eyes flashing. "We will guard him until the time is right, and you will stay here for a time, and heal, before you return to us. There is work to do still, before Arus is fit for a new generation."

VVVVV

Each of them would swear, until the end of their days, that they arrived at the Lakes, on Earth, protected by their own individual elements. Lance and Kiari remembered flames; Allura cool, thick mist; Keith, sheltering shadows. But they all agreed on one thing: all four of them awoke together, in the arms of the person they loved best in the world, knowing they had managed to rescue a pure soul from the darkest evil. They knew they were destined to meet that pure soul again, that its destiny was twined with theirs. They were a little fuzzy on the details, but they also had faith in the future and each other, that they would know when the time was right...

"So some things are a little fuzzy. Who can blame us?" Lance said, examining a silent Kiari's shredded back. "We've literally been to hell and back." He balanced awkwardly on his left elbow; his arm was injured from their fight with the witch's armies. Allura rubbed at her ichor-splashed arm, making it redder.

"But it itches," she whined, when Keith told her to stop scratching. He looked over his aching, injured, shell-shocked, damaged, wonderful, loving _family_, and came to a decision.

"We're staying here for at least two solid weeks," Keith announced. "We need the down time. Arus can survive that long without us, and we're already here, for goodness sake," he said, running right over Allura's objections. "I'll tell Koran. Lance, these are your Lakes. Is there some kind of shelter here besides this cave? Or do we need to set up camp for tonight?"

Lance tried to look nonchalant. "Oh, I've got a little place." He helped Kiari stand. He was fighting a grin. "It's not far. It's well supplied. We can stay there until we get our feet under us." He led them around the edge of one of the lakes, through willow trees and fragrant pine. A three-storied structure made entirely of local timber and glass sat in a clearing overlooking the lake. Porches wrapped around both bottom floors; a round sunken pool, about the size of Allura's bedroom in the Castle of Lions, bubbled and smoked on the bottom porch next to a complicated looking sound system.

"It's beautiful," Allura breathed.

"Oh, it's just a little old cabin," Lance said with a straight face. "It's good to see they've kept it up, though. The guest suites are on the second floor. Take your pick."

"What is that smoking pool?" Kiari asked. "What is its purpose?"

"That is called a hot tub," Keith said, his face as blank as Lance's. _This is going to be fun as hell._ "It is a ritual of courtesy, here on Earth, to spend time in it with one's host."

"It is dishonorable to do otherwise, in fact," Lance was quick to add. He punched in a security code. The glass door slid open; lights came on, soft music began playing, and the fireplace, the centerpiece of the front room, roared to life. Kiari and Allura both jumped. "There are many strange customs here on Earth. We take our honor very seriously here. But Keith and I will be your guides, just as you helped us on Arus."

"Thank you," Allura said seriously, her eyes wide. Keith swept her up in his arms and kissed the top of her head before he erupted into laughter. Lance, however, had no such mercy.

"I would not wish to dishonor you," Kiari said solemnly. "When must we complete this 'hot tub' ritual?"

"We must postpone the formal ritual temporarily," Lance decreed after a moment of mock-serious consideration. "You must let me tend to your injuries first."

"I will not allow my injuries to bring dishonor upon you, Lance," she said, frowning. Lance realized Keith and Allura had already disappeared_._

"No, there is something called a jacuzzi bath that is more, um, _informal_, but it will serve as a reasonable substitute for tonight," he told her, drawing her after him up the stairs. She frowned, still uncertain, until he whispered in her ear. "It's much more private, and requires fewer clothes." She blushed ferociously. He _loved_ it when she did that; he'd never seen her go all shy and blushing for anyone besides him. "Stop being silly. Let me take care of you." For a moment he lost his loving softness. The icy blue hatred was back. "We've been through hell and back. I still don't know what all happened to you, and that's ok. I'm just so glad to have you back. You can tell me in your own time." He leaned his forehead against hers, his fingers twining in her short red hair. "_Kia._ Let me take care of you. Let me spoil you. This is my world. I've always hated it. But that's because I had no one to share it with. Be that person for me." His lips brushed hers, painted them with words. "_Let me love you."_

"_Lance_," she whispered against his kisses, her fingers laced around his neck. "I will try. I am not good at being taken care of. It means being vulnerable. But I will try."

"It means trusting," he agreed. "I suck at it, too. But we can learn together." They reached his favorite suite; it had a private balcony that overlooked the lake. He started the bath and grabbed an armful of huge, fluffy towels. "Off," he ordered, looking pointedly at her shirt. It was barely hanging on anyway, but still she blushed. _Beautiful_, he thought. He washed her back and arm carefully with an omnibiotic cream and swathed her with waterproof bandages. "And now, for the ritual," he said, grinning wickedly. She blushed like the sunrise. "I swear I won't peek." He dimmed the lights and slid in the warm bubbling water, almost groaning with pleasure, his eyes shut tightly. He felt, rather than saw, her slide in too, and he grinned.

"I think I could die here happily," she said after a moment.

"Baby, this is nothing." He found her hand in the water. "We are _not_ staying here for the whole vacation. In case you didn't know, I am filthy rich and spoiled too." He pulled her into his lap. "I plan to spend so much damn money on us we scandalize the entire galaxy. I was thinking Paris. Or maybe Rio. Or both."

"Is that wise?"

"No. But why should I start being wise now?"

"Good point." She kissed him. He kissed her back, and dimmed the lights even more. The water was cold by the time they left it.

VVVVV

Jeff Dukane scanned the message again, hoping it might somehow magically change if he read it again. He scowled into his shot glass and banged it against the datapad. The messages were getting more and more desperate. He'd send every bit of his paycheck next time, and he'd screw up the courage to talk to Hawkins. Hell, if he had to, he'd even talk to that Koran fellow, or that bastard who'd thrown him into the wall. He threw back another shot, slumped over the gleaming kitchen counter, and savored the spacious silence of the empty castle kitchen as much as the drink. It was so big here, the spaces so huge, unlike the crowded, desperate spaces of home. _I'll get down on my knees and beg, if it will speed this process up and help them..._

No one knew his family lived in one of Earth's Red Zones. No one but Lisa. In fact, very few people outside of the Red Zones themselves even knew they existed. Earth and the Garrison wanted to keep the extent of the overcrowding as quiet as possible. Jeff grimaced and poured himself another shot. Only Lisa knew one of the major reasons why he'd agreed to take this mission: so that maybe he could find a place that would speed up the resettlement process for his own family.

It had made him sloppy and desperate that day, with the Squidbeast, and later, in Med Center. He read the message again. _I'll take steps to get this settled. That will go a long way towards fixing things._ He drank his shot. _That, and an apology. Come on, Dukane. You know you screwed up._

"Excuse me. Could you tell me where they keep the rest of that? I think I very badly want to drink some, but I have no idea where to find the alcohol, and I do not want to wake a servant. I find them most unhelpful." Jeff twisted on his stool and almost fell off it. The Lord Regent, the very man who'd thrown him into a wall several days ago, was standing barefoot in his pajamas in the middle of the kitchen with hollow, haunted eyes. His shirt was buttoned wrong and his hands shook.

"Uhh," Jeff said stupidly. "Umm. Well. I don't know. About the alcohol. Where they keep it, I mean." He gaped at the most powerful man on Arus, shot glass suspended in mid-air. "Umm. Did you know your pants were on backwards?"

The Lord Regent looked down. "I hadn't noticed," he said sadly, and turned to shuffle off.

_Brilliant, Jeff. Just brilliant. Can't you recognize a fellow train wreck when you see one? And weren't you just thinking about apologies, jackass?_

"Oh, hey, wait! What I meant was, I don't know where any is in the kitchen. This is the really good stuff, my personal stash, imported by yours truly all the way from Earth. Pull up some counter space and join me." He plopped a second shot glass down in front of the man and gave it a generous two fingers full.

Nyle watched Jeff as if he was performing a magic trick. He mimicked Jeff, tipping back the shot glass when he did, except that Nyle choked and coughed as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

"Never had genuine Irish whisky?" Jeff asked, bemused, refilling both glasses. Nyle looked a bit stunned, but then a slow smile and a warm flush began to spread across his face.

"No," he admitted. "Although I have a feeling it is something best done in a chair, this drinking of genuine Irish whisky." Jeff threw back his head and laughed.

Two chairs and countless shots later, Jeff Dukane was feeling pleasantly buzzed. This Nyle fellow was turning out to be a decent drinking partner, too; he matched him shot for shot and hadn't once slurred his speech. "Look, Nyle, I've been meaning to apologize for being such a jerk that day in Med Center. Hell, I was a jerk everywhere that day." He poured two more shots but stared at his meditatively. "My family lives in one of the overcrowded areas on Earth. Resources are stretched thin there, for everyone, and one of my sisters miscarried. I'd just gotten the news. It makes me a little crazy to get them, and everyone else, in the Red Zones resettled. So, sorry." He raised his glass.

Nyle's eyes were solemn. "That is all right, Jeff. Lance McClain, the Red Lion pilot, is frequently a 'jerk,' as you say, and it is one of his most endearing qualities." Jeff roared with laughter. "I must also apologize. I was frightened that day, when my daughter cried, and I reacted out of that fear." The haunted look he'd shuffled in with was back. He downed his shot with ferocity. "My daughter is all I have left of my wife and my home. It makes me... irrational... sometimes."

"Oh," Jeff said softly. He cracked open a new bottle. They had finished off the second completely. "I didn't know you were married."

"_Were_," Nyle said softly. "She died giving birth. She was only twenty. It was just the two of us. I had no idea what to do; there was no power on the island after Zarkon's attacks, no way to call for help, and no one to call for if it were even possible. We had been alone for years. Young and in love." Nyle snorted and Jeff started pouring again. "In many ways it was heaven. Until I had to watch her bleed to death." He thumped the glass with his finger and sighed. "Forgive me. She comes to me in dreams, sometimes, and I suffer the pain of her loss again when I awake. Tonight was such a night. So I decided to try alcohol for the first time. I hear it helps people sleep." Jeff stopped in mid-pour, shocked down to his bones. Nyle smiled at him hugely.

Jeff cleared his throat. "You decided to _try alcohol for the first time_?"

The Lord Regent of Arus nodded at him serenely.

Jeff wondered if he was going to wind up in their prison for killing their acting ruler by alcohol poisoning. "And how do you like it?" he asked warily.

"Very much." Nyle frowned at him. "Jeff, what is wrong? You do not look well. Can I get you anything? Something to eat, perhaps?"

"No!" Jeff all but shouted. "No. I'm, uh, great. You just _sit there_. Don't get up. But food! That's a great idea. Goes great with alcohol. And water. Lots of water..." He jumped up and backed towards the refrigerator.

Nyle giggled. "But, Jeff, I'm your host. I _insist_..." He stood up unsteadily, took two steps towards the counter, and passed out cold.

_Oh bloody hell, Jeff Dukane, you are one stupid bastard,_ he thought as he tried, wildly, to find a pulse and couldn't. Panicked, he fumbled for his comm. unit.

"Cliff. Cliff, it's Jeff. Are you there?"

"Unh."

"Cliff! I'm serious, man. I am in deep trouble here. I need help."

"_Unh._ _Awwright._ I'm waking up. It's like two a.m. Earth standard. What the hell did you do now? You sound drunk."

"I am," Jeff admitted. "A little." He took a steadying breath. "Cliff. I think I just killed the Lord Regent of Arus. I think I poisoned him."

Dead silence.

"Where are you?" Cliff was wide awake now. Jeff heard boots on the floor. "What did you give him? Not that awful whisky of yours?"

"In the kitchen, and yes, we drank two bottles between us before he told me _he'd never tasted alcohol before in his life_."

Cliff mumbled something. "Were these my size bottles, or your size?"

Jeff winced. "Your size."

The huge Australian, his second-in-command, exploded through the kitchen doors. He shoved Jeff out of the way and knelt over Nyle. "He's got a pulse," Cliff said disgustedly. He frowned. "Although it is very slow. Jeff, you are one stupid bastard. Was this for revenge, or something?"

"No! I actually like the guy. It was just a stupid mistake. I mean, who drinks like that for the first time ever? He didn't slur his words or anything. It was _freaky_, I'm telling you." Cliff shook his head sadly before slinging the limp Nyle over his massive shoulder.

"We'll take him back to our quarters and keep an eye on him. With luck, he'll just have an awful hangover in the morning. Then maybe they won't throw your ass in jail and kick us off the planet."

"Yeah, maybe," Jeff said glumly, following Cliff as the Australian snuck back to their quarters, the most powerful man on Arus dead drunk across his shoulder.

VVVVV

"I don't know what to do first," Allura admitted, eyeing the suite with a mixture of relief, longing, and confusion. A huge four-poster bed, covered with a fat white comforter, rested diagonally across from a cheerfully crackling fire. Double French doors led to a private balcony; another set of open doors showed a bathroom where a huge sunken tub reflected back at her in the mirrors. "It's beautiful. The whole house is beautiful."

She could see her own reflection in the glass of the doors and the mirrors. Wearing the same dress she'd pulled from Lotor's closet on Doom, she was filthy and grimy and hurting. The dress, once sparkly, was now a dull, dirty gray, ripped in places and frayed along the hem. Her hair was a tangled mess, with bits of unidentifiable things stuck in it. She didn't recognize herself. The creature in the mirror looked as if it belonged in the In-Between Worlds. "I don't belong here," she whispered, drawing close to the French doors of the balcony, trying to find herself in what was reflected there. "I'm hideous."

Keith's grasp on her shoulders was forceful, almost angry, but his voice was knotted with emotion. "That is the most profane thing I've ever heard you say. You are the most beautiful thing in my world." He turned her away from the glass. "If the world ended, if we were plunged into endless night with no promise of summer or warmth, I could go on living if I had you, because you are my sun."

"But I feel hideous _inside_, like I'm carrying that place, and all that we went through, inside me, and it will never leave. Like everything inside me is dark and foul." She trembled, her hands clutching his shirt as if she might fall without him.

He folded her into his arms, into that place against his chest where she fit as perfectly as if it had been carved there just for her. "You are my light, Allura. Look at me. Look at me, and see the truth of it." He tilted her chin up and held it firmly; he wouldn't let her drop her gaze. "Those feelings will go away. Time and love is all it takes, and you have all of mine." He swayed with her, his arms steel bands around her, as if to phantom music. "It just so happens that I have a prescription to cure inner angst," he said, kissing the top of her head. "You can only feel sorry for yourself for ten minutes a day. After that, you have to move on. But don't worry, you'll be to busy to spare even ten minutes, I promise."

"What about the outer part?" she protested, but she was already smiling a little.

"Oh, that's easy." He scooped her up. "That starts with a long, hot bubble bath." He sat her on the vanity as he ran the water. "Which, of course, can't be done in that dress." She locked her legs around his waist and kissed him, pulling him to her fiercely, glad for the building steam that helped hide her tears.

"Of course. Or that... whatever it is you're wearing. I can't tell anymore." His low laughter rumbled against her chest. Her bruised and broken fingers worked loose the zipper of his jacket. _At least, I think it was a jacket once._ Bare skin soothed her sore fingertips; steamy air and sure fingers caressed her bare back. Her lips found his ear. "I'm going to burn these things, even if we have to wear bed sheets for the whole two weeks." He lifted her easily. She nipped his ear as he deposited her in the bath.

"I don't think that's going to be necessary." Allura groaned with pleasure as Keith rubbed something perfectly balanced between scratchy and spongy across her back. "Lance isn't the only one rich one, you know. I have some resources tucked away." He moved up behind her, his fingers digging into her shoulders, rubbing deep aches away with his thumbs. "I want to show you my world, Allura. I want to take you places and buy you things and make you smile and laugh and spoil you."

"You already do those things," she said, spinning like a fish in his arms. She knotted sudsy fingers in his hair. "I just want you to kiss me. And you said something about having all your time and love? Or was it all your time _for_ love?" She grinned wickedly.

"I honestly can't remember right now," he admitted, breathless.

The bathwater stayed very hot because they weren't in it for long.

VVVVV

Nyle thought he was dying.

The lights were so bright he could barely open his eyes; his first attempts at doing so wracked his brain with a pain so forceful he thought he had a concussion. Waves of dizziness rocked him and he had to spend several motionless minutes fighting nausea with deep breathing exercises.

_Think, Nyle. What do you remember? _He tried, and got another bolt of headache for his efforts. He reached for his elemental magic and got another bolt of pain. _Amazing. I have obviously been assaulted, drugged, and kidnapped. I can think of only one enemy that has such resources, but that must mean the planet is under assault or has already fallen... _

Summoning every bit of his strength, he sat up, only to find himself in a strange place, staring at two members of the Vehicle Voltron Force. So some of their fighting force had survived. He collapsed backwards in relief. "Thank the gods some of us made it. But we must act quickly. What is the damage report? What is the state of our defense?"

The two men stared at him. He recognized one of them. Jeff Dukane, the commander, grew more alarmed with every question. The large blond man was a stranger, but his face was turning very red. He was obviously trying to hold back some strong emotion. "It's ok, Nyle. It will be all right," the commander reassured him. The blond man hid his face in his arms, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"It's as bad as that," Nyle whispered. "Has Doom triumphed utterly? Has Arus finally fallen?"

"It's called a _hangover_," the blond man said, exploding with laughter. "That's all. Arus is fine. Everything's fine. Except your head, I'm sure." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, still laughing. Jeff elbowed him in the ribs, but he only laughed harder. "I'm Cliff, by the way. I carried you back here after you passed out. No invasion, nothing but a routine hangover, courtesy of Jeff here."

"Nyle, I'm so sorry. I had no idea you'd never had alcohol before. You didn't even seem drunk." Jeff was horrified. "I thought you were dead."

"You drank more than a Nerian miner, mate, your first time out. You're a legend," Cliff said reverently. He handed him a bottle of green liquid. "Hydrating and harmless. My personal hangover cure. Drink that, hot shower, bit of food, you'll be good as new."

The evening came flooding back to him. He looked down at his mis-buttoned pajamas and bare feet and remembered his dream. His dead wife and the news she brought. The new, special burden the universe wanted him to bear. Alone. Again. Her presence in his bed...

His heart suddenly hurt worse than his head. It was a familiar pain, and he was finally, thoroughly sick of it.

"I am really, really sorry, Nyle," Jeff said again, agitated and contrite.

"Don't be," he said, surprising himself. He remembered the rest of the evening: talking with Jeff about his family, about Red Zones on Earth, about life at the Academy, his friends, things he did for fun. Nyle had listened, fascinated, and now he realized why. Those were things he'd never had. Friends. Fun. Those were things Zarkon had taken from him, along with so much else. But they were beating Zarkon back, and wasn't that what victory was? Having a normal life? Weren't friends and fun part of a normal life?

He realized he wanted to be friends with the agitated, socially awkward man sitting across from him. He felt himself grinning like an idiot. "It was fun as hell."

Jeff looked like he'd received a reprieve from a hanging. Cliff banged him on the shoulder enthusiastically. "That's the way, mate. That's the way."

Nyle turned green.

Cliff winced. "Oh, right, sorry there. Why don't you get that shower? I'll go dig up some food, something bland. Jeff here is more your size. He can find you something to wear." Cliff spared him a huge wink. "Can't have the Lord Regent of the planet strolling through the castle at high noon in his pajamas, now, can we? Highly suspicious." Whistling, he practically skipped out of the room.

"Is he always that cheerful?" Nyle asked, dropping his head into his hands.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too." Jeff grinned. "Hey, I had fun too. We should try that again, but with one bottle instead of two."

"Let's try for half," Nyle groaned, wobbling his way to the bathroom. Jeff snorted. "I actually remember some of our conversation, you know. If you are willing, I would like to show you one of the sites we are considering for settlement. It is one of the least affected areas. De La Mar Plantation still has arable fields and even some habitable structures, and it is on one of our most beautiful beaches. The climate is very temperate." Nyle looked away. "We were not aware of such things as the Red Zones, Jeff. I know Allura would want to go forward as fast as possible, given such information."

"Thank you," Jeff said quietly. "But you don't have to do that."

"I know. I want to." Nyle grinned. He was doing that a lot, this morning. "It has been a long time since I've been to a beautiful beach. We should get a group together to inspect it. I believe the Earth term is 'road trip,' but we will think of something official to tell Koran."

Jeff grinned back as he slipped out to find some suitable clothes. He was doing a lot of grinning this morning, too.

VVVVV

Lisa Sterling came back from her morning jog in a foul mood. She was making little headway with the settlement negotiations. It was only to be expected, with four highly ranking people missing, but it was still frustrating. _If they only knew how desperate things really were_, she thought, but of course she couldn't bring that up in negotiations. Even she wasn't supposed to know; what little she did know came to her courtesy of Jeff.

She sighed. Jeff. She worried about her commander. She knew the situation with his family was gradually worsening. She glanced down at herself. Her jogging top, bare midriff, and tight black pants were hardly suitable castle attire, but she was really worried about him. If she stuck to the wing the VVF had been assigned, she could just pop in and check on him.

She breezed right in. He never locked his door; an informal commander, he wanted his team to feel like they could talk to him at any time of the day or night. "Hey Jeff, have you heard anything from..."

She froze two steps into the room, the breath knocked right out of her.

Standing in front of her, dripping wet from the shower, was Nyle, the most beautiful man she had ever seen. The man she had recently thrown up on.

And he was wearing nothing but a towel. And he was barely wearing that.

Lisa considered herself a serious, no-nonsense kind of woman. She wasn't easily flustered and she certainly didn't chase or flirt. But she found herself strangely unable to move as he held on to his towel with one hand, trying to keep it from slipping off his hips as he gripped the bathroom doorframe tightly with his other hand. His biceps bulged with the effort of holding himself there. His chest and stomach were well defined; she was tempted to use the word sculpted, and found herself blushing instead. The towel dragged so low she couldn't help following the lines and planes of his abdomen downward. The towel, bunched across one hip in his tightly clenched fist, parted enough to show an equally muscled and tensed expanse of thigh.

_Oh, god, I'm staring,_ she realized to her horror, and jerked her eyes back to his face. His violet-eyed, strong-jawed...

He was staring back at her, his eyes traveling up and down her body in slack-jawed amazement. She realized that, to his eyes, used to the court dress of the castle, or the more concealing dresses women here wore regionally, she must appear nearly naked. Her workout clothes, practically plastered to her body with sweat, must look painted on.

She was having trouble breathing. He looked like he was, too.

"You're not Jeff," she said, as if accusing him of some kind of crime.

"Neither are you," he shot back.

They stared some more.

He turned pale and started sliding down the doorframe. He was losing his grip. "Hey, you don't look so well," she realized suddenly. "Are you ok?"

"No," he said, dropping to his knees, trying to support himself with one hand and hang on to his towel with the other. "I am... unwell. Jeff and Cliff are returning shortly..." He hunched in on himself. Understanding dawned, along with anger.

"Those bastards got you drunk, didn't they?" She rushed forward. "Let me help you," but she was too late. He threw up all over her running shoes. She kicked them off into Jeff's shower; let him deal with them, the bastard. "Here." She knelt in front of him, bathing his face with a cool, wet washcloth.

"I'm sorry," he said, sheepishly.

"I think it just makes us even," she teased gently, highly aware of his nearness and his near nakedness. And his vulnerability.

"I see you found Nyle," Jeff said behind her, something dark and bitter in his voice. He held a pile of clothing in his hands.

"Yes, and thank goodness I did," she said, not relinquishing her washcloth. "What were you thinking?"

"Nothing, love, nothing at all," Cliff's booming Australian accent followed Jeff's dark glare. "Just a bit of male bonding. All in good fun. Right, Nyle?" Then, a bit sharper, he added, "Right, Jeff?"

Jeff nodded.

"Absolutely." The Lord Regent of Arus grinned at her. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to stand up now. I'm having my first hangover. Then we are taking a 'road trip' to prepare for the first settlers from Earth. To one of our most beautiful beaches. Would you like to come?"

Lisa stared at Jeff, slack-jawed. He smiled and shrugged. She could almost read his smug thoughts: _Years of training in the diplomatic corps, and I get it done with a couple of bottles of whisky._ She whipped her attention back to Nyle, pulling him up, towel and all, with her steady hand on his arm. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

VVVVV

There were many kinds of darknesses in her world. Her favorite was the deepest black. When it swallowed her, she felt nothing and remembered nothing, not even her own name. The deepest, swallowing black worried her guardian the most, though, even though it was her favorite. When it let her go, he was always sitting right there, watching her anxiously. Sometimes he held her hand. Sometimes it hurt too much to hold her hand, so he just watched her, his dark eyes full of worry and fear that ebbed a little when the blackness let her go.

"Romelle." He always exhaled her name like a prayer at such times.

Coming back from the darkness meant being alive. It happened more and more, the longer he watched over her. He was healing her. In the very beginning, that made her angry. Who was he to go against her wishes? Being alive meant feeling and remembering. But when she woke to his dark eyes, to the anxious way he tended her, as if she was the last bit of light in a very dark night, how could she not go on living just a little bit longer? It seemed so important to him.

Time ceased to have meaning. The whole world stretched on into an endless night. He was her sun, her day, her moon, and her stars. He was the only light in a very dark place. She measured time first by how many blacknesses swallowed her. As they gradually went away, she measured time by how much she could move by herself in the bed he'd made her.

One day, as he sat beside her, she raised her whole hand off the ground completely and slipped it into his own. He froze, hardly daring to breathe. "Romelle," he whispered at last. His hand was rough and calloused around hers. "Does it hurt you? To do this?"

"No," she whispered. "I've wanted to. Very much."

He moved to face her, keeping the hand holding hers perfectly still. His eyes burned. He opened the hand that held hers slowly, like a flower spreading for the sun. He bent, ever so slowly, and touched his lips to the top of it. Electric fire traveled from his lips up and down her body, straight to her heart. She ached with it. It made her want to move, to get up, and to touch him back. "Does this hurt?" he whispered hoarsely.

"No," she said. "You've never hurt me." _But I ache for you, now,_ she wanted to say. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Thank you. For keeping me alive." She realized she meant it.

"You are so beautiful," he breathed, transfixed. "How could I not?"

He held her hand, cradled in his, until she slept again. It was a true, deep, restful sleep, and the swallowing blackness did not come again for a long time.

VVVVV

Allura awoke to the smell of coffee and burning toast.

"I _told_ you to let me make pancakes," Keith grumbled.

"It's my house," Lance retorted. "Besides, the eggs turned out fine."

"It's a good thing we're leaving today. Otherwise we'd starve."

She smiled into her pillow. Even on a strange planet, they bickered like brothers. As long as they were together, everywhere felt like home. She shrugged into the oversized t-shirt and boxer shorts Keith left out for her. She had to roll the waistband up several times. _We will have to find a seamstress. Perhaps there is one nearby who works quickly._ She padded down the stairs and smiled at the sight of Lance in an apron. Keith clutched a mug of coffee and watched him sadly.

"Hey there, beautiful," he said, giving her a good morning kiss. She responded in kind, twining herself around his waist.

"Oh, damn, there go the eggs," Lance said crossly.

"Looks like I have to go rescue breakfast," he said, kissing her again. "Or we'll all starve."

"Where's Kiari?" Allura asked.

"I heard that!" Lance yelled. "She's still asleep. And keep your grubby paws out of my...ouch!"

Allura rummaged quietly through a desk she had seen near the entry before slipping upstairs to find Kiari.

As she suspected, her friend was not asleep. Fire Tribe warriors always rose with the sun. Kiari stood with her nose practically plastered to the glass doors leading to the balcony, and the lake beyond. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, sensing Allura without turning around.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Allura asked. She placed a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder. Kiari bowed her head.

"Lotor whips like a grandmother," she said. Both girls giggled. "And that's all, about him. Nothing else happened. But the rest... it will take a very long time to talk about it, Allura. If I ever can."

"It will be my great honor to listen if you ever need an ear." Her friend gave her the barest of nods. Allura ran her hand through her friend's shortened red hair. "I brought scissors. To even it up."

"Is it very bad?"

"No. I like it. It will fall just below your shoulders after I trim it, a bit shorter than Charlotte's. It will make your eyes look bigger. It is the fashion here. I think he will like it, too." The red-haired warrior sat very still for her in the bathroom as Allura ran the scissors along the edges of her once waist-length hair. When she finished cutting, she handed the scissors to her friend. "Now you must cut mine."

Kiari stared at her in shock. "I cannot, Allura. You _love_ your hair. You have no reason to cut it."

Allura rested her chin on top of Kiari's head. They looked at themselves in the mirror, blond head on top of red. "I love you more," she said simply. "You are the last and only and best friend I have left from my childhood. If I had a sister, I would trade her for you. I don't want you to bear this grief alone. You have Lance and Keith and Saran too, but they are all boys, and none of them understand about hair." She wiped the single tear from Kiari's cheek. "And if you don't, I'll have to do it myself, and that will truly be a nightmare." The two women leaned into each other, laughing.

When they came down the stairs, Keith and Lance stood stone still and stared. Kiari's hair fell in waves around her face, giving her an air of innocence and vulnerability that made her look softer, prettier, than before. She wore a pale green sundress with short fluttering sleeves and a deep neckline. The full skirt fell just above mid-thigh. Allura's hair, released from some of its weight, sprang into perfect ringlets that hung below her shoulders and brushed the tops of her breasts. Her strapless dress was white; it flared from a fitted bodice and waist, its skirt brushing her thighs with layers of sheer white silk.

"I assume those boxes of clothes were meant for us," she said. "How did you get them here overnight?"

"They are for you," Keith said, unfreezing at last. "We thought you might like something to wear until we get to a decent sized city, where you can pick out your own things." He seemed spell bound. "I love your hair, by the way."

"Yes," Lance said slowly, drawing out the word. "You both look lovely." He took Kiari by the hand and drew her to him, caressing her face, touching her hair. "It suits you." He shook his head as if to clear it. "All you have to say is 'I don't care what it costs,' and you generally get whatever you want, whenever you want it. But you have to mean it."

Allura and Kiari looked at each other. "We have a question," Allura said, blushing. Kiari's fingers twitched, like she was searching for a weapon. The Princess of Arus held up two articles of clothing, both of them pink. "What are these things? They seem to be made mostly of string."

"Those would be swimsuits," Keith answered, blushing himself. "For swimming in public places."

"Bikinis, actually," Lance grinned wickedly.

"Women actually wear such things?" Kiari asked suspiciously.

"Oh, yes. It is considered an honor for a man to have a beautiful woman wearing a bikini on his arm," he assured her.

"Are you sure?" Allura frowned.

"Why don't you go try them on?" Keith suggested mildly. "To see how you like them? I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

The girls looked at each other and conferred, blond hair and red resting together. "This makes good sense," Kiari finally agreed.

"We'll be right back," Allura warned, skipping up the stairs after her friend.

"Keith," Lance said, as if from miles away. "The pancakes are burning."

"I don't care," he answered absently.

"Me neither," Lance replied.

Keith slapped an arm around his friend, the two of them glued to the bottom of the stairs, waiting for their girls to reappear in skimpy swimwear. "Lance, my friend, there is going to be trouble in Rio tonight."

The End


End file.
